


Come Together

by Oniforever



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Gen, Good Tom Riddle, Good Voldemort (Harry Potter), Marvel 616/MCU Crossover, Not So Evil Voldemort, Soldier Tom Riddle, Soldier Voldemort, technomancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-03-08 14:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 86,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13460019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oniforever/pseuds/Oniforever
Summary: It begins in 1943. Tom Riddle searches for his place in the world, and ends up getting captured by HYDRA. After being saved by a crazy muggle in spandex, he must learn to adapt to the new playing field, and have some odd friendships along the way. AU. Soldier!Tom Riddle. No pairings. Starts in CA:TFA but will spread to the other films. UPLOADED FROM FANFICTION





	1. Detour

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo! Oni here from Fanfic, decided to upload my stuff to AO3! Hope ya’ll like it... Don’t forget to leave Kudos!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A butterfly flaps its wings, a boy decides to walk in the other direction.

Little Hangleton was...quaint. It was everything Tom expected of a small town in the outskirts of Yorkshire, cut off from most of the world by the two steep hills it was situated between. He checked back at the parchment that had the address of his last remaining relative... Marvolo Gaunt. The namesake and his Slytherin heritage lived somewhere here, all he had to do was find him. He glanced over to the winding road that led a little ways past the town and up the hill, was a large, impressive manor. For a brief moment he thought that his grandfather lived there, but he shook that away when he remembered that the manor belonged to some muggles.

Making his way down the path specified, he checks his hair once more, then his cloak, and then his wand holster. He wanted to look as "pure" as he could before he met the Lord of the Slytherin House. Tom didn't think he was this nervous since...since he started Hogwarts.

And hadn't he impressed them? The crowd of witches and wizards, all praising him for his work, his charm. At least, to the other Houses, but the name Riddle wasn't exactly a pureblood name, was it? They had taunted him with that, at the beginning, before he set snakes at their heels with a few words, speaking to serpents like one would speak to friends. Then they groveled at his feet, did him favors with a sycophantic smile, like he was the purest of the pure.

 _But you're not_ , his mind supplied, _You are just Tom Riddle._

And who is Tom Riddle, exactly? He wasn't quite sure, as growing up in Wool's Orphanage never gave one much of an identity to go on. Now that he was sixteen, there wasn't really a family who would adopt him now. Not that it really mattered, he would turn seventeen by the chime of the New Year, and in the Wizarding World he would be considered an adult. He would finally be rid of that dreaded grey building filled with such terrible memories for life, and perhaps he could carve his place into the magical society himself.

Tom's musings halted as he was met with a rather sorry sight. In front of him was the most dilapidated shack he had ever seen, far worse than even Wool's. The shack was made up of more rot than wood, excreting a smell more pungent than an expired potion ingredient. A jungle had taken up residence where the front lawn should be, and after carefully picking his way through the overgrown magical plants (taking some for later, you never know when you might need it...) he found himself face to face with a dead snake nailed to the door. Incredulously he regarded the purpose of such a thing, but shook his head and knocked on the moldy door anyway. Immediately the corpse raised its head and hissed at him.

" _Who goesss there?_ "

Raising an eyebrow at the work of magic (was this a low level inferus or just strange charmwork?)

" _The son of Merope Gaunt, and the last Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble Slytherin House._ " Tom hissed back, hoping he got the title correct.

It seemed his answer was valid, as the snake corse let out a hiss of admiration before going limp again. As soon as the head hit the rotting wood the door creaked open slowly, letting out an air from within that was so foul that he nearly cast a bubble head charm on principle. After the wind cleared, he managed to breathe in enough fresh air to prevent himself from expelling his dinner. It took a few seconds to compose himself again, but now his thoughts whirled. Was this a trick? This was starting to seem less like a front to something grander, like the Leakey Cauldron to Diagon Alley, and more like a sad, painful truth. Tom schooled his face blank, even bored, but his mind began to whirl in trepidation. He pushed the door open even further, lifting up the oil lantern so that he could see inside.

The interior was arguably worse than the exterior. The ceiling was thick with cobwebs, the floor coated in grime. Moldy and rotting food lay upon the table amidst a mass of crusted pots. The only light inside came from a single guttering candle placed at the feet of a man with hair and beard so overgrown Tom could see neither eyes nor mouth. He was slumped in an armchair by the fire, and Tom wondered for a moment whether he was dead until he noticed the man had a wand and a rusted knife raised. Overgrown hair shifted from the man's face, revealing dark, beady eyes, which met Tom's own deep blue ones. For a few seconds they stared at each other, before the man staggered upright, the many empty bottles at his feet clattering and tinkling across the floor.

“YOU!” he bellowed, “YOU!”

Tom's mind went momentarily blank as the man hurtled drunkenly at him, his wand and knife held aloft. Unfortunately, Tom's wand would do no good, as casting underage would alert the Ministry to his whereabouts. At last his mind offered a solution.

" _Stop_." he hissed out in parseltongue, causing his aggressor to halt so quickly he skidded into the table, sending some moldy pots crashing to the floor.

The man stared at him in a new light, understanding seeming to dawn on his face. For a few more moments they stared at each other, Tom's mind returning from its hyper state. Thank Merlin he had trained himself to always show a face of boredom and disgust after all those years of dealing with the Slytherin House, or else this man would have seen his moment of weakness. As drunk as he was, Tom was pretty sure this man was still a member of the House of Serpents.

“ _You speak it?_ ” The man asked in awe.

" _Yes, I speak it._ " Tom replied, trying to figure out who this man was.

He walked into the shack, letting the door close behind him. Was this man Marvolo? The overgrown and unkempt hair was making it difficult to discern, but from what Tom could tell the man in front of him wasn't old enough to be his grandfather.

" _Where is Marvolo?_ "

" _Dead_ ," the man grunted, " _Died years ago, didn't he?_ "

As if he was supposed to know? He couldn't find a tail when it came to Marvolo Gaunt until he discovered the address for the Shack. If Marvolo was dead, then was there really any point being here?

" _Who are you, then?_ ” Tom asked the man.

“ _I’m Morfin, ain’t I?_ ”

Morfin...well, if Wizarding names were consistent and the parseltongue was any indication, he would at least be some relative of his grandfather. But he didn't have any cousins, did he? From what he was able to find on the Slytherin family was that Marvolo (and his mother, and now him...) was the last of the family. Unless he took into account that Merope wasn't an only child.

" _Marvolo' son?_ " Tom tried, which made Morfin grunt in affirmation.

“’ _Course I am, then_...”

So this was Tom's uncle. Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, to better see Tom, his beady eyes scrutinizing him.

" _I thought you was that Muggle_ ,” whispered Morfin, “ _You look mighty like that Muggle_.”

This raised warning bells in Tom's mind. The way the man spat out the word 'muggle' told him that this man was like Abraxas, who thought of muggles as the scum of the earth. But the way Morfin also said the word conveyed familiarity.

" _What muggle?_ " he hissed sharply, his mind once again jumping to a terrible conclusion.

“ _That Muggle that my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle that lives in the big house over the way,_ ” answered Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them, “ _You look right like him. Riddle. But he’s older now, in ’e? He’s older’n you, now I think on it_...”

So, his father is the wealthy muggle that lived in the manor. It seemed he didn't need to look too far to find the other side of his family after all. But this brought questions. Why didn't he go get Tom when he was in the orphanage? Why was his mother left to die alone on the streets of London if his father was rich enough to live in a manor?

Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support as he spoke again in parseltongue.

" _He come back, see_..."

Looks like he had another stop to make before leaving Little Hangleton, and maybe he would be able to get some answers. Answers as to why no one came for him. Why he was left alone. He stepped closer to Morfin, leaning in.

" _Riddle came back?_ "

It was strange to use his last name in such a way, and thought he wanted to hate it's muggle heritage it felt...wrong to be disassociated with it.

" _Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!_ ” said Morfin, spitting on the floor again, “ _Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where’s the locket, eh, where’s Slytherin’s locket?_ ”

For some reason, Morfin's words stung him. It became very obvious why he was abandoned by the Gaunts, as they truly did not know or care enough to find out about his mother, their own blood. In his despair, he did not answer Morfin, which seemed fire up the man even more. Morfin was working himself into a rage again, brandishing his knife and bellowing at Tom.

" _Dishonored us, she did, that little slut! And who’re you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It’s over, innit... It’s over_...”

Indeed it was over, thought Tom as he watched Morfin look away, staggering slightly with no doubt due to the onslaught of a hangover. There was nothing more to ask. This man was the last 'pure' remnant of the Slytherin family, and it was degenerating. Perhaps it would be better if he was just gone. Tom moved quickly, lashing out and grabbing Morfin's wand, which was very grimy and had obviously not been taken care of, and pointed it at Morfin. As he had grabbed the wand, his fingers also managed to swiftly pluck off the ring on Morfin's wand hand as well. A tingle ran down his spine as he touched the stone inset into the gold ring. For the moment he brushed it off, his eyes cold as he regarded the now fearful man in front of him.

"I am Tom Riddle," he answered in English for the first time in the conversation, "I am the son of your sister, who is dead. Not that you will remember. OBLIVIATE!"

Morfin was too drunk to dodge the spell, which hit him in the face and caused him to fall into the broken bottles and pots, cutting into his skin. As the man attempted to snap out of his amnesiac daze, Tom transfigured some of the grime into the appearance of the ring he took, and put it Morfin's finger.

"Confundus. All this was just a terrible dream because of your drunken habits. When the ring turns to dust it will be because it finally realized the last of Slytherin's line has ended." Tom intoned coldly, leaving Morfin's eyes to roll back and let the spell take effect.

With nothing left to do in the Gaunt Shack, Tom took his leave. After closing the door to the disgusting place, he inspected the ring he had procured. It was beautiful in its archaic way, a symbol imbedded in gold within the dark stone, depicting a circle inside a triangle, and a line bisecting it. The ring felt like very old magic, and thrummed with a power unlike anything he had even come across. To think it could very well have wasted away on the hand of Morfin made him caress the stone, as if to tell it that it would not fall to such a fate. He slipped it onto his finger, and smiled when he realized it fit him well. Next Tom turned his attention to he wand. The poor thing was covered in mold and grime, and he cast a Scourgify on it using his own. If his spells haven't been detected yet, that meant this shack was at least listed as a magical household.

He looked at his surroundings to see if he was being watched, but as the sun had long ago dipped below the horizon he was doubtful anybody would be able to see in the low light, even with the lantern hanging off his arm. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he fished out his mokeskin bag (with a few extension charms...it's not like anyone would notice...) and carefully placed Morfin's wand inside. One never knew when an extra wand might come in handy.

Since it was far too late to knock on the door of his father's home, Tom decided to stay a night at the inn, next to The Hanged Man bar. So with wand in holster and lantern in hand, he made his way to the dimly lit buildings.

The innkeeper had sleepily quoted him the fair for one night, before his mind caught of with his eyes and stared at Tom as if he were a zoo animal. His mind began to come up with reasons why the innkeeper was the behaving in such a way before the man cracked a gap tooth smile.

"Well well well, Tom Riddle. Shouldn't you be up with your parents at the manor?" the man asked mockingly.

Now he was really panicking. How did this man know his name? How did he know he was going to meet the Riddles? Was this a wizard? No, the man had no magical aura...

"....I beg your pardon?" Tom asked quietly with a deceptively blank face.

The innkeeper looked at him questioningly, before understanding seemed to dawn on him.

"Ah, that's right... he must be older now... you must be the next generation. Strange, never seen you around before..." the man muttered more to himself than to Tom.

"Yes...though my name IS Tom Riddle." he told the man slowly, his mind screaming at him for giving away information.

But the innkeeper had probably been here for a long time. He probably knew both the Gaunts and the Riddles, and could tell him more about them. If push came to shove, he could always use Morfin's wand...

The innkeeper let out a barking laugh.

"Of course you are, can't be breaking the tradition now can you?"

"I'm sorry but...what tradition?" Tom asked, this time openly confused.

The innkeeper stared at Tom again, and Tom could see that the man was trying to make sense of him. He knew that revealing that he didn't know much about the Riddles was a risky move (one that should only be attempted by a non-Slytherin), but since the innkeeper seemed to know quite a bit he decided it was a risk he was willing to take. The innkeeper, for all his grime-filled glory, seemed to be doing his best to humor him anyway.

"For as long as anyone's remembered, the Riddles have always, without fail, had a single son each generation, and every generation that boy is named Thomas. Something about keeping a tradition or whatever, that's what the Riddles say. Been that way since they moved in, which's over five hundred years at least. Say they come from some royalty, they do. Probably right, each Riddle boy gets some sort of high paying job in the government... and they're all cowards, the lot. None of em have ever picked up arms for their country, and they probably never will. The most recent, other than you now, seems, ran off with that Gaunt broad years ago, but came back a few years after, saying that she did em in or something or other. Now he just lives in the manor with his first girl, Cecilia. Never even thought about going to war. Not gonna do nothin for his country. Despicable..."

The innkeeper trailed off his words with a sneer, before he realized what he had said in the last daw parts.

"Wait.. If you've never knew that, that means you gotta be the son of that Gaunt broad, Merope."

Tom cleared his throat in an attempt to hide is nervousness. The man knew to much already, but he was hesitant in using the wand so soon...

"Yes, that's right. I grew up in London."

"Do me a favor, boy, and don't try to meet them. There's only heartbreak for you there. Pretty sure any boy your father and Cecilia have will be their heir anyway. Best do what you can to make it one your own." The innkeeper muttered, with what seemed like rare warmth.

"I will keep that in mind." Tom told him, before paying his fare and going up to his room for the night, his mind still arguing whether or not he should Obliviate the man now that he's gotten what he could out of him.

In the end, he decided that he would leave the man's memories be until the morning.

* * *

Meanwhile, Steve Rogers is touring around, trying his best not to feel like a monkey in spandex. He counts how many times he has to dramatically punch a Hitler actor in the face, while the men, woman, and children cheer from the stage. This feels wrong. He wants to do his part, but they still won't let him.

It's like before all this even started. Before he was simply underqualified but now... now he could fight for his country alongside Bucky. Dr. Erskine understood that, and helped him get to that level, but now that was taken away from him once more. Everyone else was off risking their lives and here he was, stuck in a star spangled outfit and lines that made him want to retch inside.

It just felt wrong, playing Captain America with dancing girls, urging people to buy war bonds for the soldiers he should be fighting alongside. It made him wonder whether the good doctor's work was worth it if he couldn't even put it to good use. He puts his face in his hands, sitting backstage as the show begins to start. He doesn't want to go out there, he doesn't want to be reminded of how he feels like a caricature of the soldier he should have been.

Perhaps if things get worse, they will have to bring him in to help. Then he could prove to them that bullies, no matter where they come from, can't win. But for now, Captain America is needed to punch Hitler in the face and to entertain the crowd.

Steve just hopes that it'll all be worth it.

* * *

"I really should have thought this through."

The telltale crack of apparition sounded from a ways away, probably outside the town so as to not alert the muggles of the town. It seemed that he was right on the assumption that it didn't matter who's wand he used, the Ministry only tracked magic use to areas that weren't labeled as a magical household. The Aurors would be here soon. Tom glanced at the now dazed innkeeper, his mind whirring to come up with a plan.

"This is too Gryffindor of me..." he muttered under his breath, changing the memories of the man to one of Marvolo Gaunt attacking the man instead, hoping that the inebriation of his uncle will somehow explain the mess he was caught in.

He could hear the footsteps of the Wizarding law approaching, and realized that there really wasn't any way for him to escape. Well, that wasn't true, there was one...

Apparition was only taught to those near the age of seventeen, which Tom clearly qualified in. However, he couldn't say that he had much practice. Enough to cover a short distance safely, perhaps, but he would still be easily found that way. It seemed like today was the day he would be acting like a complete Gryffindor, then. He stuck his wands into his pack, hoping that whenever he landed, the Notice-Me-Not charms let his belongings evade sight if he happened to be caught.

"Destination..."

He closed his eyes, envisioning a woodland area he once saw in a picture, but didn't exactly remember where it was from.

"Determination..."

The footsteps were getting closer, they must nearly be at the inn.

"Deliberati-"

The door to the inn slammed open, with a couple Aurors in muggle garb streaming in. But all they found was a dazed, gape toothed innkeeper, and the hint of magic in the air.

Elsewhere, Tom Riddle landed in a forest clearing, the impact knocking the wind out of his lungs. With a groan, he opened his eyes, taking in the scene of the woodlands he had pictured. The second thing he did was check himself for splinching. It seemed that he had not pissed of any higher beings recently, because he was miraculously unhurt. Tom didn't know if it was simply luck or if he was simply that magically gifted (he hoped it was the latter, but he knew better). He was, however, completely drained of energy. Tom attempted to sit up, but his aching muscles refused to move. Even his head could barely lift itself off the ground. Of course, this situation was pretty bad, but at least he was in one piece with nobody chasing him. One must be thankful for small miracles.

He was unconscious by the time he was found by two soldiers dressed strangely, all in black. They had patches on their clothes depicting a mass of tentacles coming out of a menacing skull. The two soldiers argued on what to do with the body, before one of them knelt down to the boy's prone form. They decided that he must have been a young soldier that had been a bit too excited and crossed enemy lines against orders. After all, what other idiot would come so close to their base in Austria?

 

 


	2. Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a HYDRA base, one may find old enemies and new allies. Elsewhere, a certain professor notices that a certain student is missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to leave Kudos!

Tom awoke to loud, metallic sounds and the shouts of men. He opened his eyes to see that he was in a prison cell of some sort.

So they had moved him again, then. These strange muggles, who had deemed to call themselves HYDRA, seemed to love moving around their prisoners, though for some reason they kept him separate from the others.

When he had first awoken in this place, he had been tied to a chair, his hands bound behind the back. Two soldier dressed in black had come in, shouting at him in German. When it became obvious that Tom couldn't, in fact, understand them, they switched to English. Which apparently wasn't any better, because they questioned him on his clothes, and his supposed "men". After a few rounds of pretending to know what they were talking about he managed to deduce that they thought he was a solider, an enemy one at that. His dark blue eyes had darted to their clothes, which held a red insignia on it, having an eerie similarity to a design he had been coming up with himself, what with the skull motif and all.

They had asked about whether of not he came alone here (he did), what was his mission (there was no mission), and what his name was (Tom Riddle). His answers did not seem to placate the soldiers. On the contrary, they got rather angry when he at last stated his name, and told him to stop playing games with them.

So now they think him to be a British covert spy, and put him in a cell with only a window on the door, not that he could see from it very well. They would sometimes take him out of it to interrogate him again, sometimes coupled with some "persuasion" in the form of painful injections or breaking of some limbs. His magic seemed to heal it quickly, much like they did with his injuries in both the orphanage and Hogwarts, which baffled the people even more. After every questioning session he made sure his small bag stayed hidden, but couldn't risk taking anything out of it for fear that the charm would then be negated. The bright side to all was that he managed to gain quite a lot of information by their questions and their conversations to the other soldiers that they had captured.

They were a group called HYDRA, they just recently turned on the Nazi party (wasn't Grindelwald supposed to be puppeteering the muggle side of that?) and required slave workers to help build...a muggle machine. HYDRA seemed to also hold some kind of advantage, but Tom wasn't able to find out what it was.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he was certain that it had to be about a month or so since he was detained here, which meant that school had already started. People would notice his absence, he was sure. Dumbledore had kept an annoyingly close eye on Tom ever since he let the Basilisk loose. Slughorn would notice that one of his prized students had gone missing, and his Slytherin sycophants would probably realize the Heir was no present.

But who would truly miss Tom Marvolo Riddle?

It was a rather depressing thought, so he pushed it away and instead thought of how to gain more information, which meant picking up key German words. Which couldn't be that hard, he tried to say to himself, as he was already fluent in most of the Ancient Runic languages (including some unsavory ones). German was derived from the Norse linguistics, right?

Days passed, and he would always be led into a room, questioned, tortured, and questioned again. None of them believed him even when he told his half truths over and over again. For some reason they still asked his name, and he soon found out from his garbled German understanding that they didn't believe that "Tom Riddle" was his real name. Tom couldn't help but find it rather strange. It was a bland, muggle name, nothing that could cause alarm. Yet the HYDRA soldiers refused to believe it, so he was put through hell once more. They broke his fingers, which healed, burned marks into his skin, which would be unblemished a few days later, and they shot his legs, which again, healed.

The worst one by far was when they would keep his head underwater for long periods of time. Suffocating with his head in a bucket of water was something he was used to, and while it wasn't as sharply painful as the other ones, he still hated it the most. It just reminded him of darker days of his childhood. ("Spawn of the devil, release thine hold on this youth! In the name of the Lord free this boy from his curse of the Serpent!)

Tom continued to learn about his surroundings, like the fact he was in a weapons facility in the Austrian Alps, which made him understand why he felt so drained after his initial Apparition. In his current condition, making the trip back would be suicide. There were times when he wanted to reach for his wand and show these muggles how pathetic they were under the might of a wizard, but they watched him too closely for him the make a move.

He was starting to rethink about his stance on muggles. These ones were smart, and seemed to operate on a near hivemind. To make matters worse, their weapons held a blue glow to them, the energy making his hair stand in end. When he was in close proximity, he couldn't doubt the fact that these muggles, whether they knew it or not, had managed to harvest some form of magic. This revelation unnerved him, but even all that they had done to him he still kept up his bored mask, just to watch his captors squirm under his gaze.

Later, they relented in their torture, but kept him in a cell alone. They had him work in a factory line with other prisoners, ones that were actually soldiers, to manufacture something very, very large. When he was able to sneak a look at a blueprint of the bloody thing, he deduced it was some sort of aircraft. An aircraft with very big guns and nuclear bombs.

And here he was thinking muggles weren't up to scratch with the world. Bloody hell.

On the bright side, he was getting good with overhearing what the HYDRA blokes and the allied prisoners were saying, and it helped him learn more about the muggle side of the war. Of course, being at Hogwarts showed him the Wizarding side, with Grindelwald and his followers terrorizing both magical and muggle alike (Speaking of which, wasn't Nurmengard near the German border? He's uncomfortably close, then).

* * *

The Welcoming Feast was warm and bright. It was too bad Albus' heart was a storm at the moment. Each day he hears more news of what his former friend has done, and yet each night he says here, fearful of confronting the man he so blindly loved. His eyes twinkle, though, when he sees this year's new Gryffindors, his new charges. Perhaps the brightness from his students will give him the Gryffindor courage to face Gellert again. He knew the man was now considered one of the most feared Dark Lords in history, and knowing that somehow he had not seen his vileness made Albus want to sigh in self-degradation.

Though speaking of Dark Lords, Albus' eyes cautiously trailed to the Slytherin table, where the Riddle boy was. Riddle, after all, showed unfortunate signs of both prejudice and an obsession with the Dark Arts. It was all good to learn the theory, but last year, a student died when Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets opened, and though Hagrid took the blame, Albus was sure that the cause was none other than Tom Marvolo Riddle. The boy had also began to gather followers for...something. And it wouldn't be good for the world to have two Dark Lords running around at the same time...

His eyes widened as they passed over the green clad table again. And again. Perhaps there was a mistake? Maybe his mind was too cluttered? No, Horace was also looking worriedly at his own House table, and he could see the mutters of the Slytherin students from him, some alarmed, several curious.

Tom Riddle was not at the table.

* * *

 Another month had probably passed in captivity when something rather odd happened. It appeared that the facility gained a new manager, a HYDRA colonel by the name of Lohmer, who had loudly proclaimed to his fellow HYDRA members that he had the perfect plan to increase productivity. Hence why Tom was being led through the hallways, chained up and surrounded by marching guards on both sides, to the area where the other prisoners of war were being kept. Tom's sharp eyes quickly picked up the fact that now the soldiers had been separated from their own groups and mixed together with other members of the allied forces. While he was distracted with this revelation, Tom was pushed by the HYDRA guards into one of these mixed cells, the prison door slamming shut behind him.

There were five other men in the cell. One was slumped against the bars, having a coughing fit that told Tom that the poor soldier had come down with pneumonia or something. Behind his bangs he regarded the other members of the cell, of which consisted of a burly redhead with a mustache and a round hat, a dark skinned man that seemed familiar with the former soldier, a Frenchman, and someone who appeared to be from Tom's own country. This became obvious when the men introduced themselves one by one. The red mustached man became Dugan (who also mentioned the sick man beside him to be "Jimmy"), the dark man Jones, the British man Falsworth, and the Frenchman Dernier. Before Tom himself could introduce himself (not that he was trying to, he was doing his best to blend in with the darkness of the facility) Dugan and Jones made a verbal jab at the Frenchman, and soon a brawl broke out inside the cell.

In the other cages, much of the same thing was happening. Tom shook his head. Divide and Conquer. A classic control technique. Of bloody course. He lazily glanced over to the cage next to his, only to find another burlier British soldier pummeling an American. It was most unfortunate that he recognized this particular soldier quiet well. After all, Tom HAD killed his rabbit when they were small.

Billy Stubbs went off to war as soon as he was of age, probably to kill Nazis and feel like a hero. Typical of him, to want to hurt others because it felt morally right. Billy was always lauded a hero at Wool's, because he would always defeat the spawn of Satan. He would crush the Serpents beneath his heel. How many slithering friends had Tom lost to this boy? It made his vision go red, but he tried to cool his emotions down. Fighting in this place would do him no good.

That was, until Billy himself turned to meet his eyes, and sneered in recognition.

"Well if it isn't the FREAK. Wonder how in God's name YOU needed up here in this hovel, Riddle."

Silence fell between the cages as the two orphans glared at each other, Tom not uttering a single word. All he did was constrict further in on himself, causing Stubbs to guffaw. All he did was glare at Billy with cold eyes.

"What's the matter demon spawn? Cat got your tongue? I thought freaks like you would be working for these blokes outside! I've got half a mind to wallop you here and now!" Stubbs taunted, causing Tom to hiss in anger.

Somehow he was now standing up, he had grown taller since he had last seen Billy, and while lanky, struck a foreboding figure. His hands gripped the bars of the cell tightly, and perhaps he was imagining the smell of burning. Wide blue eyes were wild with anger, and he saw the men in Stubbs' cell back away in fright, while Billy himself smiled with stark terror in his eyes.

"Go on, show us what kind of monster you really are!" Stubbs shouted almost hysterically, and everything began to go red...

A hand gripped his shoulder tightly, grounding Tom once more to the here and now. He turned behind him to see that it was the sick soldier, "Jimmy". The hand squeezed his shoulder in a reassuring manner.

"Don't bother with him. He's not worth it." the soldier they called Jimmy croaked out, before he erupted into another round of coughing.

Tom turned back to the stricken looks that were on the faces of the men in Billy Stubbs' cell, and back to his own cell. The soldier was right. Tom soundlessly nodded, and let go of the bars. He turned his back to Stubbs and faced his cellmates, who were fighting each other just before.

"Tom Riddle." he mumbled monotonously, as a way of quiet introduction.

The men in his cell nodded mutely, distracted by something behind him. Tom paid them no heed, slumping down with the American that was also rather sick, refusing to look at their faces. He knew what they were seeing.

And he refused to talk about the handprints burned into the metal bars of the cage, where his hands had gripped them just seconds before.

* * *

They were working on the line again, putting together missiles piece by piece. Tom marveled at the ingenuity, even if it was the enemy's. His eyes darted to the stiffness of the other soldiers from his cell, still angry at one another. Absentmindedly he glares at the crimson insignia that HYDRA uses for themselves. It looked nothing like a hydra, and more like a kraken, if anything. Tom knew enough from Care of Magical Creatures (though not as much as that Hagrid boy, who took the fall for Tom's own actions...he was starting to feel a little bad about that) to distinguish the two, at least.

He did so hate the color red, it always seemed to be the color of his opponent. Green was a far better color. Green like the scales of his House mascot. Lions and Eagles were overrated anyway. Perhaps he should continue on that route, just make a few changes. His philosophy seemed to have taken a turn, as muggles were far more advanced than he had ever imagined, but he could keep most of his plans, like the insignia, and the new name...

A loud crashing sound reverberated in the hanger they were in, dragging Tom out of his musings. Blue eyes widened as he saw "Jimmy" on the ground, hacking and coughing with unfilled shells scattered around him. Colonel Lohmer angrily marched up to him, shouting some sort of swear in German.

"Sorry about that, Fritzie -cough- cant quite shake this damn -cough-" the soldier replied to the HYDRA colonel, who had picked up an empty shell lying on the ground and raised it above his head, "Think...I caught -cough- pneumonia on the battlefield...you wouldn't happen to have a -cough- doctor in this dump -cough-"

"We do." Lohmer answered menacingly, bringing down the shell on "Jimmy's" head with a loud clang, "I am him."

Blood began to flow from the soldier's head, and Tom began to see red. It seemed that he wasn't the only one, because Dugan roared out from his place at the belt, held back by two guards.

"JIMMY! You dirty-" but he was cut off with a gloved hand to his mouth.

"And THIS is the cure for what ails you!" Lohmer shouted almost gleefully, bringing the shell down three more times, the sound of metal clanging mixed with the smell of blood, and Tom felt something twist inside himself.

Strong fingers wrapped around his arms, and Tom realized that he, too, had lunged at the colonel and was now being held back by the guards. It felt strange, perhaps he was just feeling attached to the one person who almost effortlessly grounded him from his rage before, coupled with the fact that these men were the first "friendly" human contact he's had in months.

Eventually they all ended up back in their cell, with Jones tending to the poor man's wounds as best he could, and checking him over to see his current condition. Even with his limited medical knowledge Tom could tell at least some of his ribs were broken.

"Well, I'd say it's walking pneumonia...except contusions and broken ribs have taken care of the 'walking' part. If Fritzie makes him work tomorrow, I guarantee he won't last his shift." Jones concluded grimly.

"That bastard Lohman won't think twice about it!" Dugan ground out, "He gives slave drivers a bad name!"

"Kleiber had morning shift, and he at least is partly human..." Dernier offered, but was then cut off by Dugan.

"But then Lohman comes on the floor at NOON! He'll drag Jimmy outta here, and then he's KAPUT!"

"Hold on..." Falsworth butted into the conversation, a hint of an idea lacing his voice, enough to make Tom lean in, "...Dernier, you were an explosives expert with the partisans, right?"

"Oui." was the confused reply.

"And you're on shell duty tomorrow. Right, Dugan? Can you knick me some of that gunpowder?"

Tom could see where this was going... he attempted to lean closer, but a groan from his injured cellmate causes his attention to go back to why they were planning this scheme in the first place. Suddenly, an idea came to mind as well. He stared at the bloodied form with calculating eyes.

"Five-finger discount's what landed me in juvenile hall, Limey." Tom heard Dugan reply.

He placed a finger on "Jimmy's" shirt, getting blood on it. Enough to write with.

"Good." he heard Falsworth say, "And you have the power cells, yes, Jones?"

"So?" Jones grunted.

"My specialty in the brigade was strategy." Falsworth explained, "I think we can take care of Lohmer once and for all...but it will require us working in tandem."

Tom inspected his work, certain that he got it correct, and pulled down "Jimmy's" shirt to hide it from questioning eyes.

"Why, Lord Falsworth," Jones said smoothly, smiling at the British soldier, "...what took you so long to ask?"

It was then that Tom felt many eyes land on him, and he turned to see that the others were all looking at him now.

"Riddle, I'm not sure what you're specialty is-" Falsworth started before he was cut off.

"I wasn't in the war, I landed in here by accident. I do, however, have a...narrow skill set that probably won't be of use." Tom answered, already feeling the bones under where his hand rested above the rune he had drawn crunching together as they slowly knitted themselves back together.

"You're manning the transportation, right? If you have good aim, then all you need to do is..." Falsworth whispered so that only the cell's inhabitants could hear, making everyone smile.

"Yes, that I can do." Tom replied, his thin lips curving upwards in a way that made people shudder.

* * *

It had been a month since it became obvious that Tom Riddle was missing from Hogwarts. His position as Head Boy had been given to someone else in the meantime. However, nobody knew where to start looking for the boy in the first place. He had already visited the orphanage, but they had claimed he hadn't been there for the latter part of the summer.

Albus sighed. He knew Tom wouldn't leave on his own, as the seventh year of Hogwarts could be considered the most important year of all. Of course, Tom himself most likely had already mastered this year's curriculum the year before, just like he always had, but after his near-plea to stay at Hogwarts during the Chamber incident, it seemed uncharacteristic of the boy to not show up.

Which meant he was being kept away from Hogwarts against his will.

While Tom was a...dangerous student, it was the duty of all Hogwarts staff to make sure that all of their students were safe and sound. The only thing Dumbledore could think of that could possibly contain the boy was...Grindelwald's followers.

Remembering the boy's own anti-muggle stance (he made that very clear to his Housemates), Albus paled. Could it be that the Riddle boy had joined their forces under the promise of power?

This is what plagued the wizard with the greying auburn hair and beard as he walked toward the Transfiguration classroom to begin the lessons for that day.

* * *

The plan went off without a hitch. Falsworth casually wheeled his shell cart past Dugan, who slipped him gunpowder in some folded paper, and past Jones, who had conveniently left a jar of battery fluid next to him as he worked on the cell. Nobody noticed Falsworth swiping it up.

"Here you are," Falsworth whispered to Dernier, handing over the supplies, "For God's sake, don't blow yourself up."

"Naturellement." was the only answer received, and they parted ways.

Tom was now at his post inside the strange muggle contraption. It appeared to be a giant magnet connected to a crane-like machine. Currently the magnet was lying on top of a pile of scrap metal, waiting to be lifted and carried to wherever they needed to be. Of course, Tom was waiting for a certain somebody to show up first...

"Kleiber!" shouted the man they were all waiting for, "I don't see that clumsy oaf Number 56898!"

"He is very sick, Herr Lohmer," Kleiber replied, fixing his round spectacles, "Incapable of work!"

"I'll be the judge of THAT, Lieutenant!" Lohmer shouted, getting louder and louder.

From his place at the inside of the crane-like machine, Tom discreetly watched Dernier add the gunpowder into the small jar of fluid, and shifted his eyes away from where the Frenchman was carefully pouring the solution onto the chain that connected the heavy magnet to Tom's machine.

"That lazy good-for-nothing will DIE at his post if he has to!" Lohmer bellowed, raising his arms high, "I'll drag him out of his cell MYSELF-"

"Let's go, Britisher!" shouted Kleiber to Tom, half attempting to ignore the raging Lohmer, "We need that scrap across the floor NOW! Schnell!"

"Right-o Lieutenant Kleiber, sir..." Tom replied with a salute.

Fortunately, he had been posted at this job before, and therefore had already gone through the trail and error with the controls (and had been punished harshly for messing it up, multiple times) and pulled on the handles to make the crane move, taking note of how the flames Dernier poured onto it were eating up at the chain. With a loud whirring noise the machine spun towards the HYDRA soldiers, the magnet coming along with scrap in its maw. The magnet slowly moved above them, and Tom slowed it down minutely once it went over Lohmer's head.

It happened so fast. The chain shattered from where the flames had eaten up the metal and wire, and the magnet (and everything it carried) plummeted right on top of Lohmer. The man barely had any time to react when he looked up to see what had happened. A scream of fright was the last thing heard from Lohmer before he was crushed beneath the broken machinery, spattering blood on the floor.

The men working who saw the death cheered, and they had to be restrained by the guards. In his place inside the now-broken crane, Tom smiled. It always feels good when something goes as planned. There's something else there, too, a sense of camaraderie. Tom wonders why he's never felt this way in Hogwarts.

They were quickly sent back to their cell, where "Jimmy" was lying wearily, but definitely in better shape than when they had left.

"Hey, hey Jimmy." Dugan whispered out as they all filed into their cage, "That creep Lohmer ain't gonna bother you - or anyone else no more. They can't tell it wasn't anything other than old equipment, so we just gotta go without rations for a week." at this, Dugan cracked a wide smile, "It was worth it just to hear the bastard HOWL, Jimmy-boy."

"Blast it, Dugan, you Dum-Dum!" growled out the weak soldier, who was now far more energetic, "How many times I got to tell you - no one, and I mean NO ONE, calls me 'Jimmy'."

"Your Mama named you James, didn't she?" Dugan asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

At this, the soldier-that-was-not-called-Jimmy sat up further, surprising some of the others with how quickly he had healed. His face was set in indignation.

"James Buchanan Barnes." he told them, stressing out each syllable, "That's why they call me Bucky."


	3. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is it that causes camaraderie amongst men?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to leave Kudos!

There was no doubt that Barnes' condition was only getting worse. The healing runes that Tom reapplied when no one else was looking could only do so much, and now that Barnes' wounds had healed, there wasn't any blood left for him to work with. He even managed to steal away a pen to help, but ink had a much weaker impact than blood did, and did next to nothing in helping treat Barnes' walking pneumonia. To heal a disease rather than a simple wound required a much more complex array, as it dealt with something spread much more thinly than a large wound, which he couldn't get away with even if he did have enough to write one with.

Barnes himself had seemingly caught on to what Tom was doing, as he weakly lifted his head to the young British wizard while he was carefully drawing a slightly more complex rune before any of the HYDRA guards looked his way.

"What've you been doing to me?" he had questioned groggily.

"Trying to heal you." Tom answered vaguely, eyes darting around to see if anyone had heard Barnes, and seeing that a couple of his cellmates were glancing his way, but none of the guards.

"You don't heal people by writing on them," Barnes groaned, feeling his chest where Tom had first applied the rune to heal his injuries, "but when you wrote that stuff here...I felt my bones fixing themselves. How did you do that?"

"I learned how." Tom told him, finding himself unwilling to lie but equally unwilling to spill out the truth, continuing to carefully draw out the new rune.

"I've never heard of any kind of healing that only needed writing," Jones cut in, and by the look of the others' faces, they shared the same sentiment, "that's, like, magic and shit."

Tom did not answer them, instead choosing to pull down the shirt to hide what he had been drawing and stuffed the pen under his shirt. He waited for the guards to pass before lifting the shirt again to continue his work, starting on the next part of the array.

"Remember when Stubbs _kindly_ pointed out that I was a freak? Let's just say it's something like that." he answered with his head lowered, not liking the way Barnes' eyes seemed to flash in something akin to pity.

Since Tom was the least physically adept out of the healthy members of the cell, he was usually the one left to tend to the man. That and because while they didn't understand what he was doing, they did see the effects it had, and let Tom do what he needed to do in hopes of him curing Barnes' ailment. While in a disease-filled haze, Barnes began to ramble. He would groggily relive part of the battles he had fought before he was captured, twitching away whenever he heard a loud bang go off somewhere in the facility. Sometimes both Dugan and Jones would explain to Tom what the man was rambling about, probably to give themselves something to focus on other than the fact that they were still captives here.

Barnes would also talk about a childhood friend of his, one that couldn't stop running away from a fight. Apparently Steve Rogers tended to take quite a beating from the neighborhood kids, and it was Barnes that had to patch him up. It made Tom's chest clench a little, and he wondered what it would have been like to have someone at his back when he was beaten by the other children at the orphanage. Barnes had answered him, as Tom had accidentally muttered the sentiment out loud, that if he didn't have anyone, Barnes himself would fill the role. Tom knew this was probably delirium talking, but it still made his chest lighten.

Soon, however, despite Tom's best efforts, Barnes' pneumonia still stubbornly stayed. The soldier could barely lift his head off the ground anymore, and his breathing had grown ragged. When the guards came by, they did not pass their cell like usual, instead opening the cage and dragging out an unconscious Barnes. Tom and the others were held back, pushed down and the cage door locked in front of them. They could only watch as their comrade was dragged away to who knows where. The mood in the cell dropped after that, and the anger and helpless feeling lasted for a good few days.

On the last day of this half-grieving (as none of them were sure if Barnes was dead or not, but none of the soldiers that had been dragged away ever came back), two odd things happened.

One was the addition of two new people, that seemed to be a much higher rank than that of the normal agents, and treated both the prisoners and the guards with a level of disdain, like they were cockroaches to them. However, this was not the strangest part. These two men wore what were obviously Wizarding robes out in the open, as well as wand holsters at their belt, in full sight of muggles. Luckily, they did not wear any pointed hats, but nonetheless Tom was sure this was a clear breach of the Statute of Secrecy (Tom's cellmates did comment on the the men's strange choice of clothing but Tom himself stayed silent). The men also did not sport the HYDRA insignia, instead wearing a golden rune symbol stitched to their cloaks.

It was the same symbol that his ring sported.

Tom mind whirled, then began to tick, trying to pick out and match up what he had previously learned to these men. What kind of wizards would work with HYDRA? They were previously a branch of the Naz-

Oh.

Dark cloaked wizards. The blatant breach of the Statute of Secrecy. The way they, like many purebloods (and Tom himself, during his stay at Hogwarts) treated muggles like filth. Working with Nazi branches. These must be the followers of Grindelwald.

Which meant the insignia was...

Tom glanced at the signet ring on his finger. It had been passed down the Gaunt line for generations. When he had traced his family tree back, he found he was the last remaining heir (of the male line) of Slytherin, as well as a descendant of the Peverell line, which is where a supposed prized heirloom was passed down from each. Since the other prized heirloom was Slytherin's locket (which was still missing), the Peverell heirloom was most likely the ring he wore now.

Professor Dumbledore himself had a fascination with the Peverells, and since they were his ancestors Tom took it upon himself to eavesdrop on what was so special about them. Eventually he had managed to find out that they were rumored to have been the inspiration for a popular Wizarding fairytale. Tom had only read the book for its social value, as purebloods tended to quote things from their childhoods deliberately to outcast those who have not experienced similar. Thus making Tom spend an entire night reading a wizard child's fairytale book. According to the little tale, each brother was given a powerful artifact by Death himself, a wand to the eldest, a ring to the middle child, and an invisibility cloak to the youngest. These artifacts, together, were later fabled to be the "Deathly Hallows", which united would make their wielder the "Master of Death".

It was a story that both Dumbledore, and apparently Grindelwald, believed in. So much so that Grindelwald had turned the runic symbol of the fabled Deathly Hallows into his own insignia, and soon his followers displayed their pride by showing off this symbol, not that Tom had ever seen it until today. He had overheard Dumbledore worrying about Grindelwald being in possession of the Elder Wand of Antioch, the eldest Peverell brother, and worried Grindelwald would try to take the mantle of the "Master of Death" himself were he to find the other two Deathly Hallows.

One of which was now on his finger.

Perhaps it was not the ring itself that was the Hallow, but the stone inset within. Which meant that Tom himself was in possession of the Resurrection Stone of Cadmus. This alone meant that he could barter his way out of imprisonment, and leave the cell in favor of being in the company of other wizards, and possibly climb high in the ranks, and maybe even gain favor in Grindelwald's eyes, and...

And he sure as _hell_ wasn't going to do something like that. Not if they were working with HYDRA.

Not after Barnes.

Tom closed his thin fingers over the ring resolutely, turning it around so that only the gold band was visible from the top. It may have some sort of charm that makes sure it couldn't be seen by others, which explained why it was never taken off him, but he didn't know to what extent the ring hid itself from others. He had seen it just fine on Morfin's gunky hand, and while it _might_ only be visible to the heirs, it was equally likely to be charmed against muggles exclusively, which meant if the wizards passed by here, they would be able to see it. Tom wasn't going to take that chance.

Fortunately, Grindelwald's followers didn't seem to notice anything different about Tom (something he would have been greatly insulted at in the past) and simply sneered at him and his cellmates, muttering obscenities about "lowly muggles" under their breath. Soon, however, they moved on to a different part of the facility, and that was the last that Tom saw of them for a while.

The second odd thing wasn't too odd at all, comparatively. Well, it was to his fellow captives, or at least, what had come of the incident.

Being a secret facility in the wilderness meant that the inhabitants still had to deal with the odd wildlife managing to sneak into the building. Mostly is was the odd bird or rodent, reminding the prisoners that yes, there was still life outside this bloody place. However, this time, a different animal crept its way inside.

" _Cold...sso cold_..." Tom heard in the dark, causing him to turn his head in alarm, his eyes darting to where he thought he heard the voice.

It was Falsworth who first spotted it in the darkness, making him jump up in alarm as it came his way. Soon Dugan managed to follow the British soldier's line of sight, and promptly began to swear, standing up quickly and backing away. Dernier and Jones followed suit, and soon the guards had run to the cage to see what was going on.

An asp viper managed to slither its way into the cage, its tongue flicking out periodically. This made the guards blanch a little, taking a large step back from the cage, before laughing at the predicament of those inside the cage and exclaimed aloud how they would be back to see if any of them had died. They left soon after, still laughing, and Falsworth sucked in a shuddering breath.

"Right, lads, that's an asp. If you couldn't tell from what the guards said, it's venomous. Now, how to make sure it doesn't bite us, is the question..." the British soldier whispered, trying not to spook the serpent lest it bite his ankle.

"Well, we better think of something, I don't want to be downed by a snake here, out of all things." Tom blankly watched Dugan slowly step away from where the asp was slithering, trying his best to be invisible to it.

Tom held out his arm close to the snake, causing Dernier, who was closest at the time, to send him a look that clearly stated "are you crazy?". He paid his silently protesting cellmates no heed, instead focusing on the asp that was getting closer to his hand, which was backing up slightly and getting ready to strike.

" _Come_ ," he hissed, and Tom heard most of the men groan, but the asp froze in its tracks, " _I am a Speaker. I will keep you warm_."

"Kid, hissing at a snake isn't going to make it listen to you." Jones groaned out silently, "It can't talk-"

But the snake had already begun moving, wrapping itself around Tom's arm before winding its way loosely around his neck and shoulders. Its scales were freezing, and he suppressed a shiver as the snake warmed itself gladly in his body heat. Tom smiled widely, and stroked the asp's head as if it were a harmless thing. He stared at his fellow prisoner's looks of shock, and cooed at the snake for good measure.

"Nothing to worry about here," he told them nonchalantly, unable to wipe the wide grin from his face, "he was just cold."

"So...you can speak to snakes." Dernier stated, breaking the silence that had spread through the cell, cautiously sitting back down again.

"Yes, it's a trait that got me into trouble as a child." Tom answered, still stroking the snake, who hissed in contentment.

"It's... fascinating..." Falsworth eventually admitted, "what is it saying now?"

Tom snorted.

"This one doesn't seem to be very talkative at the moment. Snakes are like people, they all have their own personalities." he explained, at ease with this particular subject.

The rest of his cellmates slowly sat down, staring at the snake wrapped around him, and then back at Tom.

"Well then," Dugan muttered after a few seconds, "that makes things easier."

"What, no comment on how I'm the Devil's Spawn?" Tom drawled, his blue eyes fixed on the asp.

"We're prisoners in a base with HYDRA, who I didn't know _existed_ until we were attacked by them." Jones answered pointedly, "they came at us with blue lasers that turned everything it touched into dust. All you did was hiss at a snake. That and the weird writing stuff you did was to help Barnes, not kill us all. Pretty sure the Devil's Spawn name still goes to these guys." he jerked his head in the direction where the HYDRA guards were slowly approaching.

" _Hide, if you want to live_." Tom hissed at the asp.

The snake did as he was told, slithering down underneath Dernier's coat, which was lying on the ground next to Tom. Just in time, too, for the guards soon stopped at their cell to check for injuries, only to find everyone unharmed and the snake nowhere to be found. They expressed their disgruntlement at this, but moved on their way, jumpy at the fact that the asp could be anywhere in the facility by now.

Another hiss from Tom brought the asp out again, slithering into his lap and settling there. When inside, the snake lifted his head up to Tom.

" _Are the humanss who passsed bad humans?_ " the snake hissed out, causing Falsworth to jerk his head toward Tom.

" _Yes_ ," he replied smoothly, holding up a finger towards the British soldier, " _they're the ones who are keeping me cage here. If they find you, they will kill you_."

Turning to Falsworth, Tom explained in English.

"He asked if the men who passed were bad men. I told him that they were."

" _They can't kill me if I bite them firsst!_ " the snake hissed out, raising his head higher in pride.

" _Patience, my friend, patience. There is a time and a place for everything_." Tom answered, then to Falsworth, "He says he wants to bite them. I told him to be patient."

"Truly fascinating..." Falsworth breathed out.

Behind him, Tom heard Stubbs grumble about him being a freak, but said no more after Stubbs' own cellmates gave him a fearful look that made him shut up. Deciding to ignore him in favor of introducing his new friend to his cellmates, Tom coaxed the snake into his arm once more, the asp's body coiling around his forearm, and extended it towards Dernier.

" _These humans are my friends. This is Dernier._ " At this, Denier stared in confusion, "I'm introducing you, to make sure he doesn't attack you."

" _Ssmellss like fire, he iss a Fire-Man_." the snake told Tom, making him laugh.

"He can still smell the gunpowder on you from last time." Tom explained, making Dernier's eyes widen.

Tom only chuckled, and moved on, placing the snake in front of the remaining cellmates, introducing them in order.

" _This is Jones... and this is Dugan... and this is Falsworth. All friends._ "

"Man, I know you're just trying to introduce us, but is there a way to do it without shoving the snake in my face?" Jones commented with a pained look on his face, shuffling backwards on the floor.

"He needs to be able to discern your smells from one another so no, I've afraid I will have to shove this snake in your faces until he gets it." Tom intoned flatly.

"...That was a joke, right?"

There was no answer.

"Right?"

* * *

"What about Jack?"

"No."

"Snakey."

"Definitely not."

"Jimmy."

"I'm not naming a snake after Barnes."

"That would be calling him Bucky, but I guess that's out."

"Adolf?"

"Really?"

Tom didn't understand why trying to find a name for the asp was such a big deal. Really, snakes tended not to have names until a Speaker came along and gave them one. However, the men around him seemed to find it rather important.

"Why would you want to name a snake after the leader of the Nazi party?" Tom asked in exasperation, stroking the snake that was sleeping in his lap.

"Would be funny." was all Dugan answered with, a grin on his face.

"I still think Snakey's pretty good." Jones defended, making Tom roll his eyes.

"That would be like naming your dog 'Doggy', and I refuse to do that to any intelligent animal."

"Well, what would you name it then?" Dernier asked, huffing.

"Hmm... probably something from Mythology. Ah... that's it, I'll call him Jormungand." Tom stated proudly.

"...what? What kind of name is that?" asked Dugan, his forehead crinkling.

"In Norse Mythology, Jormungand is the World Snake. Son of the Trickster God, Loki."

"Pretty hard to pronounce. Your-mun-whatsit." Jones half-argued.

"George, then." Falsworth eventually said, "I'm quite sure that's a shortened version of that name, right?"

"Fine. You can call him George, short for Jormungand." Tom huffed, explaining their decision to the asp in question, who hissed in agreement.

The days passed in a bit of a blur, melting into one another in their monotony. "George" managed to be of some help, as Tom would use him to spy on other parts of the facility and report back. It wasn't entirely useful, as Jormungand could not understand any form of human speech, nor was his eyesight the best, but he was able to tell them the routine that the guards used. They also ended up finding out where HYDRA stored their weapons, information they filed away for later.

In the meantime, they still worked as slaves to help build the giant bomber, something that made Tom very uneasy with every new part they had to make. The tingle of magic became stronger ever since Grindelwald's followers had arrived at the facility, though Tom was unsure where they were now. He assumed they were working on whatever magic artifact that HYDRA had found, and possibly try to steal it.

Tom wasn't a fool, he knew that wizards like Grindelwald and his followers wouldn't be caught dead working alongside or for muggles unless they had something both powerful and magical in their grasp. HYDRA's weapons all had the same blue glow (one that his cellmates had jokingly claimed was the same shade as Tom's eyes), and they definitely came from something magical in nature. On top of that, Jones' explanation of what those weapons did showed just how powerful the artifact was.

All that people more reason to make sure the ring doesn't fall into their hands. While Tom wasn't sure what being the Master of Death entailed, he was sure it wasn't good for the Allies if Grindelwald gained that power. Even without and added bonus, being in possession of the most powerful wand in existence, a ring that could call back shades of the dead (and who knows what else, given the time and research), and an invisibility cloak that hides one even from Death, would make an individual unstoppable.

A part of Tom wanted to see what would happen if _he_ managed to procure the Wand and the Cloak, but another, saner half born out of his time here in captivity screamed that the idea was complete _madness_. No sane person would try to go after Grindelwald with only six years of schooling (even if he was a genius). The man was a bloody _Dark Lord_ (which is what Tom still aspires to be, he thinks to himself) who was so powerful and so influential his follower count amounted to that of an army, and they were _winning_ the war.

Where was Professor Dumbledore in all this? Was he not the one man Grindelwald feared above all others? He was hiding, still, behind Hogwarts' walls. For a man who preached Gryffindor bravery to every Slytherin he could, the man certainly did not have the courage to face the man who was committing atrocities on both Magical and Muggle alike. Or was there something far more sinister at work, where Dumbledore stayed out of the way on purpose, "For the Greater Good"? Was that not the slogan of Grindelwald, as well as the mantra Dumbledore repeats to students when he denies them sanctuary within Hogwarts' halls during the summer, even with the War going on out there? This was a worrying theory, and he didn't want to be so quick at accusing his Professor with fraternizing with a Dark Lord. But _surely_ Dumbledore couldn't be _that_ cowardly, leaving many to die while he hid inside Hogwarts?

Tom stroked Jormungand absentmindedly, this thoughts clouding his sight. Not that there was much going on, they were still stuck in their cage, the day's work done. The asp was not very talkative, usually only speaking when spoken to, but he was very loyal. Jormungand never ran off unless Tom told him to do some spying, and he always tried to come back with some sort of news. He warmed up to the others quickly, and had attempted to locate Barnes many a time, to no avail. It made Tom and his cellmates worry about what had become of their comrade. They were starting to wonder if Barnes had perished under the hands of HYDRA.

His sombre mood was interrupted by a clatter from somewhere outside the cell. It sounded somewhat like a body hitting the ground, and Tom hoped that HYDRA hadn't decided they were of no use and had started offing their prisoners. There was silence after that, with only the usual noise of the facility reaching his ears. Jormungand peeked up, his tongue tasting the air.

" _Ssomething new comess thiss way._ " the asp said, his pupils widening in surprise, and Tom's eyes begin to dart, taking in his comrades who had sensed the change, to the guard that was walking toward them on the roof of their cage.

Seconds later there was a smacking sound, and the guard spun and collapsed right on top of their cage, which definitely caught the attention of his cellmates. They all looked up in alarm and confusion, before another man came into view. He wore an army helmet and jacket, and held a wooden shield painted in the design of the American flag. Tom and his comrades stood up quickly as the mystery man began to pilfer the guard where he lay. A jingle of metal told Tom he had found the keys to their cells.

"Who are you supposed to be?" Jones asked, eyes squinting to get a better look at him.

The American soldier with the gaudy shield had placed the last item plucked from the guard into his pocket, and Tom could see the faint blue glow of the HYDRA weaponry inside. He looked around, either unsure of himself or to check for other guards.

"I'm..." he gasped out, before catching his breath, "Captain America."

"I beg your pardon?" asked Falsworth, conveying what everyone else in the cell was thinking.


	4. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Captain arrives, a secret exposed, an army returns from captivity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to leave Kudos!

The man who called himself "Captain America" had begun to release them, cage by cage. When he got to their cell, Tom was able to get a better look at him. Light blue eyes and short cut blond hair, the perfect American stereotype. Truly this man already looked the part of his odd title. While he was busy scrutinizing their savior, Dugan had walked up to a man released earlier who seemed to be of Asian descent, but was in an American soldier's uniform.

"What, are we taking everybody?"

"I'm from Fresno, Ace." the soldier quipped in reply, holding up his dogtags, which identified him as Jim Morita.

Before anything could get too hairy, Captain America began marching forward with haste, and they all followed his lead.

"Is there anybody else?" he asked, "I'm looking for a Sargent James Barnes."

This made Tom freeze up. How did this man know about Barnes? The way he spoke his name conveyed a sense of close familiarity, and frantic worry.

"There's an isolation ward in the factory," Falsworth told Captain America, "but no one's ever come back from it."

Who knew Barnes that well? The soldier hadn't mentioned anyone close to him that-

Tom stared at Captain America incredulously. This couldn't be Steve Rogers, could it? Barnes had described Rogers as blond with blue eyes, but had also added that he was short and lanky, and was unable to be admitted into the army. Captain America was tall, bulky, and had knocked a guard's lights out with a single punch. But no other person would fit the description...

"All right," Captain America (and maybe Steve Rogers) said, "The tree line is Northwest, eighty yards past the gate. Get out fast and give 'em hell. I'll meet you guys in the clearing with anybody else I find."

"Wait." Jones managed to push his way to the front of the group, facing the Captain, "You know what you're doing?"

"Yeah," the Captain replied, "I've knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times."

A look of confusion and incredulity washed over the faces of the freed soldiers, and  
Tom only barely managed to suppress a snort. He liked this man's sense of humor, which also vaguely reminded him of Barnes' own. Perhaps this was Rogers, though whatever the muggles had done to him certainly made him more than capable of fighting. Truly incredible, what the muggles were really capable of, then. He watched as Captain America ran off deeper into the facility, and hoped that he would be able to find Barnes alive. For now, though, he had work to do. The soldiers pushed the door open, the feeling of freedom rushing through their veins and pumping adrenaline into their systems. It was time to fight their way out.

Tom placed Jormungand on the ground, and hissed instructions before they left the building. He knew he wasn't much of a fighter, but he was going to help his comrades battle HYDRA in the best way he can. Placing his back against the walls of the facility, Tom dug into his bag and procured his wand and his wand holster, which he slipped under his sleeve. Carefully he slid his wand into the holster, and went to join the battle alongside his serpentine partner.

While he was preparing for battle, it seemed that Dugan and company had managed to hijack a HYDRA tank, and began to drive it around, shooting at nearby HYDRA soldiers. The blue beam that was released from it vaporized whatever target it hit, causing magic to crackle in the air as it did so. It made him freeze for a second, horrified at what HYDRA was capable of, before a weapon was shoved into his arms by Dernier. Tom looked down to see a HYDRA rifle, glowing blue at the core, and then looked up to see Dernier's impatient face.

"Aim, press trigger, watch out for recoil. Good luck." was all the French soldier said before heading back into the fray.

Taking careful aim at a group of HYDRA soldiers, Tom let loose a bolt from the rifle, the beam turning them into nothingness, or so it seemed. Tom thought that the beam acted much like a blasting spell, as even with magic one couldn't make something truly disappear. The color of the light matched the curse as well. A couple seconds later, he heard a HYDRA soldier yelp, before clutching his ankle. It appeared that Jormungand was making progress as well. With each bolt fired from his rifle, he became more confident in his weapon, his aim bettering and his pace quickening. However, it was clear that Tom's slow reaction time with the weapon was doing him harm. The other members of his team fired off the machinery like Tom would spells from his wand. For one who had never been in battle before, this was grueling. He didn't know how long the battle lasted, but while he was struggling to shoot up enemies Dugan, Jones, and Falsworth managed to aim the tank's nozzle at the gate, blasting it apart and truly freeing them from the facility.

However, this victory was short-lived.

An energy barrier erupted in front of them, which Tom identified as a powerful shield charm. Sure enough, when the teen turned around, the two followers of Grindelwald were making their way toward the freed soldiers, wands raised and ready to fire. Many a soldier fired their guns, only to be deflected by one of the wizards stamping towards them, to his comrades' immense surprise and horror. It became obvious to the allied soldiers that these men were far different than the fallen HYDRA men that littered the ground dead. These were men with clothes and abilities straight out of a children's fairytale.

"You damn muggles!" one cried, his wand raised high in the air to keep the shield charm blocking them in place.

Loud crashes could be heard from within the facility, as if someone had released a dragon inside. Someone inside was setting off bombs, either from the Captain or from a HYDRA head that wanted to make sure their work was never found. Shouts from the freed soldiers could be heard at their new predicament, unable to fight their way out of this battle. With this new obstacle between him and his new comrades' freedom, Tom decided to drop all pretense of being muggle.

"Ah, bugger this..." Tom muttered around the same time, dropping the rifle and flicking his wrist.

"Know your place, filth!" the other cried at the group of stunned soldiers, "BOMBARDA!"

"PROTEGO!"

The curse hit Tom's shield hard, but he still managed to keep it intact. He could feel all eyes on him now, from both the soldiers he was fighting alongside and the wizards he was fighting against. Explosions now rang out from behind the wizards, the facility going up in flames piece by piece. Both Tom and Grindelwald's followers could escape quickly through apparition, but the soldiers would die if they couldn't get past the gate.

There was no time for small spells. These wizards would only be struck dumb for so long, and Tom twirled his yew wand in his hand. He had one chance to surprise them before they came back with more fervor. Time to _really_ show off. The Statute doesn't matter if someone else already broke it, right? Tom held his wand aloft, a smirk playing on his lips.

"FIENDFYRE!"

The familiar jet of fire spewed from the tip of his wand, the flames gathering and growing in front of him. Within seconds the flames took the from of a giant serpent, with a likeness of the Basilisk down in the Chamber. Tom's smirk turned into a wild, manic grin. Oh yes, this felt right. Soon enough the flames ceased to come from his wand, and he could see the horrified looks on the wizards' faces.

" _Get them!_ " Tom hissed out to the giant snake made of living flame.

The Fiendfyre wasted no time in doing just that, closing the distance between it and Grindelwald's followers within seconds. It struck at them, flaming fangs gouging parts of the ground where the wizards were frantically trying to summon enough water to put it out. A hiss of smoke billowed out from where the water hit the serpent, but it wasn't nearly enough to quench the fire. Soon enough one follower perished under its flames, its body setting nearby HYDRA soldiers on fire as the allied soldiers watched at the gate in awe and horror. The second follower seemed to have gathered his brain cells back together, because with a swear of profanity he apparated away. Once he had left, there was no one remaining to hold the barrier together, and it fizzled into nothingness. They were free once more.

Tom held his left arm aloft, his wand held loosely between his fingers in his right hand. He hissed soothingly at the giant serpent, coaxing it back to him. It obeyed like all snakes did, slithering obediently to his feet and bowing it head. A quick flame-freezing charm was applied to the head before he could pet it, but once he do so he hissed for it to sleep. The snake did so without hesitation, closing its eyes and holding still as Tom doused it completely with a strong water summoning spell. Only smoke was left from where the Fiendfyre had surrendered itself to him, and Tom was internally thankful of his Slytherin lineage, lest he be unable to control such magic.

It was only after he slid his wand back into his holster that he realized he was still being watched. By some very shocked and terrified soldiers. This time, however, there were two more people in his audience than last time. A Captain America, who was huffing and puffing as if he just sprinted the entire way here, and a James Buchanan Barnes, who looked a little worse for where but was alive and walking.

"Man," gasped out Barnes as the Captain helped him reach Tom, but looked at the both of them, "both you guys have been holding out on me since I was gone."

* * *

"Wait, so you're _actually_ magic and shit?" Jones asked in awe as they trekked their way through the mountains.

Apparently there was a base "nearby", which was revealed to be thirty miles away and in another country, but Tom really didn't mind. He was still coming off his high of his newfound freedom. Barnes seemed to be feeling better, as he was now trekking alongside them unassisted and proud. The soldier walked in the left side of Captain America, who was leading all of them to their destination. Tom took the Captain's right side, completing the flank.

"Yes, and so were they. They're followers of Gellert Grindelwald, a Dark Wizard who has a vendetta against muggles." Tom explained, stroking the sleeping Jormungand around his neck.

"Muggles, huh?" Dugan muttered, "that's what those guys were calling us. What does it mean?"

"Non-magical people. I'm quite sure American wizards call you something different, however."

"What are wizards doing in a HYDRA base in the middle of the Austrian Alps?" asked Denier incredulously.

"Well...I landed here on accident. The followers of Grindelwald, on the other hand, are undeniably working with HYDRA." Tom refused to elaborate further on the subject.

"So those things you drew on my chest," cut in Barnes before someone else could needle him for more information, probably sensing Tom's reluctance to speak on it, "that was some kind of magic?"

"Yes, they were healing runes. Blood magic works best, but I only had enough to heal your wounds, not your ailment. Ink does not work well enough to fight a disease. Not with my limited windows." Tom answered with an apologetic look.

"It did the job, and that what matters." Barnes replied with a smile.

They walked along in what could be considered a comfortable silence. Each soldier had something on his mind as they marched through the mountainous terrain, perhaps of home or sleep or loved ones. Tom instead looked around him. Every single soldier was in some sort of uniform, and here he was dressed back into his robes. Here, with these muggles after just casting a Fiendfyre in full sight if them. He wondered if he would get into trouble when he got back to England. Furthermore, how was he going to explain his disappearance to Headmaster Dippet? Would Professor Dumbledore assume that he was up to no good? How much had Tom changed, really, in captivity? His thoughts were interrupted by Barnes.

"By the way Tom, this is Steve. I know my description of him doesn't altogether match, but last time I saw him he was scrawny. Steve, this is Tom, he and the others took care of me when I was dying of pneumonia."

Tom exchanged a look with Captain America, who smiled at him and held out his hand. He outstretched his own arm and shook hands with the towering man. So he was right then, this was Rogers after all.

"Steve Rogers, a pleasure to meet you. You did good fighting off those other guys."

"Ah, but I should be thanking you for freeing us all, Captain Rogers." Tom replied, "I am Tom Riddle."

For a moment Rogers' smile faltered before casting his eyes over to Barnes, who appeared to be trying not to laugh.

"Er, I probably shouldn't be asking this, but..." Rogers began, "Is Tom Riddle your _real_ name?"

Chuckles rang out from Tom's ex-cellmates and Barnes seemed to have gone into a coughing fit. An exasperated look made itself known in Tom's face.

"I pulled out a stick, made fire that turned into a giant flaming serpent come out of it with just a few words, and _that_ is the one thing you have trouble believing?"

"Well, to be honest, I'm still taking in the whole 'magic is real' thing myself, but who am I to...oh never mind." Rogers shook his head, "If you're that confused by it, it's probably you're real name."

"What are the odds?" Barnes quipped from beside Rogers.

"Are you going to explain what's going on?" Tom asked dryly.

"Nah, you'll figure it out eventually." Barnes answered with a grin.

Tom sent the soldier a glare, though there was no malice behind it. If he was the Tom Riddle that left Hogwarts that June, he would have cursed the man's mouth off, along with every soldier still chuckling at him. He wondered when he had mellowed out. When had he become so open? When did he change from the wizard that vowed vengeance on the world that wronged him? Perhaps it was simply fate.

Barnes continued to grin, and with Rogers also smiling at him, Tom did too.

* * *

It was madness when they finally reached the base. Tom felt near suffocating as the soldiers of the base began to crowd around Rogers, him, and everyone else that had been freed. So many soldiers came out from inside the tents that Tom half thought that there were expansion charms in place. He shook those thoughts away. All these men were muggles. Even so, he was sure his presence would cause a few questions, so Tom discreetly cast a Notice-Me-Not charm on himself before things got too crowded. A man in an army helmet came from between the throngs of soldiers, his very aura commanding respect and obedience from those around him. Feeling a little out of depth, Tom slunk behind Rogers, and was surrounded in seconds by the rest of his ex-cellmates, though none paid him heed. When the man stopped in front of Rogers, Rogers saluted him.

"Some of these men need medical attention." was what Rogers said first, before shifting his eyes away, then back to the man in front of him, "I surrender myself for disciplinary action."

By the tone of his voice, Rogers did not regret what he did. Nevertheless, Tom watched him carefully with wide eyes. Captain Rogers must have disobeyed orders from the man in front of him to need disciplinary action, and since the only thing he had done was come to Austria to free them, this meant that all of the soldiers trapped in the facility were probably given up for dead. Seeing the relatively one tracked mind that Rogers had, the muggle enhanced soldier had gone against a direct order to save Barnes. Tom couldn't help but feel a little jealous.

"That won't be necessary." came the reply from the man, before turning away and letting another person through.

"Yes, sir." Rogers uttered before he was face to face with the new person.

Which was a rather miffed woman decked in an army uniform. Their eyes seemed to convey some form of attachment, which Tom filed for later (it wasn't blackmail...yet). While Tom couldn't feel attraction, he could tell that she was pretty. Dark brown hair curled at her shoulders, and red lips stood in sharp contrast to her pale skin. Deep hazel eyes seemed to stare into Rogers' own, and a quick glance at Barnes showed that this was a new development. She looked Rogers up and down.

"You're late." the woman said with what was obviously a British accent.

In reply, Rogers reaches down, fumbling with something in his pocket. When he brings his hand out again, it is holding a square device with a bent antenna and a bullet hole right through the top right corner. Rogers had a slight smirk on his face as he looked at her again, the device making a rattling noise that Tom was sure it wouldn't have made if it were still intact.

"Couldn't call my ride."

 _Oh yes_ , Tom thought to himself, _there is definitely something going on between these two_. Their dynamic was just too interesting to ignore, and Tom stored all their mannerisms and reactions for later use.

"Hey!" Barnes called out suddenly, "Let's here it for Captain America!"

The crowd around Rogers erupted into rancorous cheering, with many a soldier coming up and clapping Captain America on the back or shoulder. Tom smiled, happy that these men finally gained their freedom. Perhaps it was time for him to go as well, considering that he wasn't part of any military service. He would stick out like a sore thumb otherwise, and while he knew he had gained a camaraderie to the soldiers he was imprisoned with, Tom knew he wasn't one of them. Tom was just about to slink away from the cheering crowd when he caught some odd behavior coming from some of the men. More specifically, those that were his ex-cellmates. They were looking around at each other, as if trying to find something. This went on for a little bit before Falsworth raised his voice above the crowd.

"Not to cut the celebration short, but does anyone know where Riddle went?"

His words seemed to spark something in the soldiers. The ones who came from the base camp held confused expressions, while the freed men began to look around for him nigh frantically. Even Captain America held a worried countenance, exchanging a glance with Barnes, who was attempting to weave through the throng of men. Tom felt his chest tighten in something he didn't quite understand, and began to follow Barnes through the crowd. When he got close enough, he tugged at the back of the man's shirt. Immediately Barnes whipped around, his eyes sliding off Tom's figure due to the Notice-Me-Not charm and everywhere confusedly. Tom dispelled the charm, quickly sliding the wand up his sleeve and smiling innocently.

"I'm right here, Barnes, no need to get worried." he said to the man who was now gaping at him.

Barnes had stared at him for a moment, before understanding dawned on his face. Tom, in reply, flicked his sleeve where his wand was, grinning cheekily like an idiot. With a clap on his back, Barnes began to laugh a little.

"Jeez, kid, you're really something aren't you?"

"I try to be, at least." Tom said in return, his smile more relaxed.

Soon enough, Captain Rogers was called away by the stiff man from before (Colonel Chester Philips, Barnes had whispered to him). The woman, who Rogers knew but Barnes did not, followed behind the tall soldier. When that happened, most of the other soldiers returned to their duties, helping the wounded freed soldiers to their medical tent. Everything went relatively quite, with fewer soldiers standing around at loss at what to do.

"Well," said Dugan, walking up to Tom and Barnes along with their other ex-cellmates, "I don't know about you, but I could _really_ go for a pint or two right about now."

A murmur of agreement resounded amongst the men, though Tom shook his head.

"I...probably should be heading back to the Orphanage..." he muttered, knowing his adventures with these muggles was probably over now that they were all free.

Considering that the Ministry hasn't yet sent a letter, he would probably face trial when he got back to England. He wasn't looking forward to it, but it had to be done. Besides, he needed to get the information of Grindelwald's movements to Dumbledore as quickly as possible so the man could finally get off his arse and do something about it. These muggles couldn't fight such wizards alone, it would be suicide to do so. Tom was also quite sure he had overstayed his welcome here. It's not like he was a soldier, and he really didn't want to explain to the muggle military authorities why he was here in the first place.

"Bullshit," Jones replied, slinging his arm over his shoulder.

"You're coming with us!" continued Barnes, slinging his arm around Tom's other shoulder.

"And if someone asks why you're here, we'll clobber 'em." finished Dugan, already making his way to one of the army vehicles.

Tom was then led by Jones and Barnes to the truck, followed by Falsworth, Dernier, and Morita. They were seated in the back, with Dugan and Jones driving in the front. Tom turned to his right, where Barnes was grinning at his triumphantly, like brining him along with them was something to celebrate. It was odd, Tom could not recall the last time people genuinely wanted to spend company with him. A warm feeling rise in his chest, spreading to the rest of his body.

It felt good, he decided, to be wanted.

* * *

Steve Rogers stood in a circle along with other members of the Strategic Scientific Reserve, pinning locations on the map on the table where he had remembered seeing HYDRA bases back when he was inside the facility in Austria.

"We are gonna set a fire under Johann Schmidt's ass." Colonel Phillips said, placing his hands on the edge of the table, "What do you say, Rogers? It's your map, you think you can wipe HYDRA off of it?"

The bases were scattered all across Europe, six in all. Italy, France, Czech, Greece, and two in Poland. If he started with Greece, he could go in a clockwise direction, hitting them hard and fast before HYDRA even knew what he was doing. Of course, he couldn't do it alone. He would need a team of men he knew could work well as a team, with special skills and hearts of gold. And he knew just where to find them.

"Yes, sir." Steve answered resolutely, "I'll need a team."

"We're already putting together the best men." Colonel Philips replied, his chest puffing up.

"With all due respect, sir. So am I."


	5. Pub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a barfight to show who your true friends are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to leave Kudos!

Tom had never been in a muggle pub before. It was, thankfully, not much different from a magical pub like the Leaky Cauldron, just without all the cloaks, wandwaving, and floating objects. Surprisingly enough they were all transported to London, and Tom had to pretend to not look at the Leaky Cauldron, which was by Fate's design next door. Curiously too, was that the muggle pub he was in was called 'The Leaky Pot'. He wondered, briefly, if the two pubs were connected, a silent bridge between the magical world and the mundane world. However, if Grindelwald continued his reign of terror, and the threat of a Witch Hunt in Europe, all the bridges would have to be shut down. As is, the pub was devoid of customers before Tom and the soldiers arrived, which supported his theory even more.

Curiously, he was not arrested as soon as he set foot in England, which relieved Tom to no end. He assumed that since the battle was fought in Austria, the Ministry of Magic wiped their hands of the issue. _Politicians_ , he scoffed to himself, _always looking out for themselves_.

Since most of the returned soldiers that weren't injured were all here drinking in celebration, it was rather crowded. Fortunately, the bar itself was devoid of people, probably because one could not lean back and relax upon a barstool. Tom himself didn't really care, so here he was, sitting at the bar next to Barnes. He had changed his clothes during the ride, to those riding with him's surprise and entertainment, into something a little more muggle. A white button down, black slacks with suspenders, black dress shoes and a black waistcoat had all appeared from his rather torn cloak.

"You know, you could call me Bucky. Pretty sure you're considered my friend." Barnes had laughed out.

"Do all Americans eventually have some odd nickname for each other?" Tom had replied exasperatedly, "I've heard you call Dugan 'Dum Dum' more than once, and Rogers seems to have acquired the moniker of 'Captain America'."

"Aw, don't tell me you're friends back at magic school never gave you a nickname!"

"..." Tom blinked at Barnes blankly, and a look of understanding crossed the soldier's face.

"...You didn't have friends at magic school, did you?" he finally managed to say after a few seconds of silence passed between them.

"Well, they would call me 'The Heir of Slytherin', which is more of a title than a nickname, but the name I've got for myself is far superior."

"Oh _really_ ," Barnes said with a smirk, "and what's that?"

"Lord Voldemort." Tom replied with a grin.

"That definitely sounds...wizard-y I guess," Barnes began slowly, the words 'sounds like a super villain' went unsaid, "Sounds almost French though."

"It is, it's French for 'Flight of Death'." Tom stated proudly, "And an anagram for my full name."

"And..." Barnes was really grinning widely now, to Tom's confusion, "how long did it take you to make up that name?"

At this, Tom frowned.

"...a couple months, at least. I spent most of my hours in History of Magic working it out in Fifth Year..."

Apparently, Barnes could contain it no longer, and began to laugh. Tom tilted his head in confusion. Was it something he said? Was Barnes laughing at him? Barnes continued to pound the bar with his fist, and called our for another drink for the two of them.

"Kid, that's cute. Sounded like you wanted to show me a macaroni picture that you slaved _all day_ over!"

"Are you comparing me to a _toddler?!_ "

Barnes...Bucky's laughter was the only answer he received.

"Well, I'll tell you what. If there's any need for all of us to go under code names, I'll use Lord Voldemort."

Tom smiled, it was nice hearing someone else say that name. It gave him a sense of validation of his efforts. Granted, perhaps the Knights of Walpurgis plan needed to wait until after the war, and the insignia drastically redesigned (it bore far too much of a resemblance to the HYDRA insignia to his liking), but he could still make his place in the world. And perhaps, if Fate designed it that way, it was with these muggle soldiers. Tom's fingers brushed the head of a sleeping Jormungand, who was draped around his neck and doused with a more advanced version of the Notice-Me-Not charm, which only affects those who have not seen the snake prior to the charm. Thus Barnes and Tom's other ex-cellmates (along with Morita, who were happily chatting and singing at a table in the room past the bar) were the only muggles able to see the asp.

"I suppose that's the best I can ask for." Tom eventually said with a sigh.

At this point the bartender managed to finally reach the bar after getting drinks to the other customers. The reason the man had waited so long became evident when he sent a pointed look at Tom, and then Tom's sleeve, where his wand holster was hidden inside.

"Would you like some of our drinks from our...storage next door?" the bartender asked between him and Bucky, his eyes going to the other members of the room as if they were listening in.

The gears in Tom's mind began to quickly grind, crunching out the hidden meaning behind the bartender's words before remembering what was next door.

"Oh, so you keep the extra stuff in that abandoned lot?" Bucky asked in confusion, "Huh, I didn't know you guys owned it. Looks pretty run down to me."

At this, the bartender smiled, and gave Tom a knowing look. In turn, Tom gave Bucky a mysterious smile.

"A Butterbeer for me, if you please. And, ah...Ogden's Old Firewhisky for Sergeant Barnes here."

After the bartender had smiled and left,Tom turned to a bewildered Bucky. Obviously he would have heard of neither drink, and both had questionable names, the Firewhisky more so. A grin made its way onto his face.

"Next door, Bucky, is the Leaky Cauldron. It's the magical pub here in London, as well as the entrance to Diagon Alley. Remember me explaining that? This pub is probably where muggleborns would bring their muggle friends and family, as they wouldn't be able to see the magical counterpart. Of course, you could enter if a wizard or witch guided you in, but for a large party of muggles to one magical that would be ridiculous."

The bartender returned with a large mug filled with Butterbeer and passed it to Tom, smiling before passing the horn of Firewhisky to Bucky. Bucky stared at the horn, nearly marveling at its Teutonic design.

"So, you guys really do live like it's the Medieval times or something?"

Both Tom and the bartender laughed. Coming from the muggle side of things, the Wizarding World did come of as incredibly old-fashioned. This made Tom look up and study the bartender carefully. He was young, maybe on or two years older than Tom himself. In fact, the face was rather...familiar.

"So, seeing as you're not in the other pub, I'm assuming you're a muggleborn?" Tom asked in a quiet voice, to which the bartender nodded ruefully.

"That's right, graduated Hogwarts a year ago. Got a job here, but definitely not staying."

"Ah, something came up for me over the summer." Tom nodded to Bucky and the motioned to the rest of the soldiers, "I think it counts as skipped Seventh Year."

"Well, you can only fight a war once. Come back to school when the war's over, eh?" the bartender, "As for me, my NEWTS are what will get me into the Ministry one day. I'll be Minister of Magic! The first muggle born one!"

"Did Divination Class tell you that?" Tom asked suspiciously, making the bartender sniff.

"I'll have you know it's not as wooly as some people say it is!"

"Ravenclaw, then." Tom snarked as an answer.

"Yes, actually! Nobby Leach, class of 1942." the bartender replied with pride, "And if it weren't for the fact that you're hanging around so many muggles, I would've taken you for a Slytherin!"

"Ah, but you see..." Tom sniped back with a grin, "I _am_ a Slytherin. The Heir, in fact."

At this, Leach's eyes widened. Poor Bucky was attempting to follow along in the conversation, piecing together what Tom had explained on their way back from the facility. Unfortunately, too many new words, phrases, and inside jokes were being thrown around. He was at a loss on what to think, but he knew the look in the bartender's eyes was one of shock and a little bit of horror.

"Dear Merlin, you're Tom Riddle!" Leach all but gasped, "Bloody Hell, have _you_ done a turn! Coming into the muggle side of the pub, wearing muggle clothes, and talking like nothing's different! Can't say I'm not happy by this revelation, you seem to be...friendlier now."

"I suppose I turned around, hm?" Tom murmured quietly, almost to himself, before turning to Leach, "There's a bad plot going on, Grindelwald's doing more than we thought. I may or may not have gotten on his followers' bad side."

"Those were the other two guys at the facility, right? The ones with the gold symbol on their...cloaks?" Bucky managed to add, halt this was something he actually knew.

"That's right." Tom answered with a nod, "And they're bound to come after me now. Very few wizards can cast Fiendfyre, let alone control it. It's a...type of dark magic."

"Some things never change then..." Leach muttered with a rueful grin, before soldiers came in ordering more drinks.

When Leach had left, Bucky turned to Tom in half bewilderment and then shook his head in exasperation. He then proceeded to take his horn of Firewhisky and took a long gulp, setting the horn down heavily afterwards. Almost immediately smoke began to billow out of Bucky's red, surprised face, and Tom couldn't help but laugh at the sight. After a few seconds, Bucky's ears stopped pouring out smoke, leaving the poor man to cough and sputter freely.

"So, here's what I don't get. Why keep everything separate?" Bucky asked after a few moments.

"Because muggles have been known to be afraid of something they can't explain, and despise gifts that they don't have." Tom explained, sipping at his Butterbeer, "It's human nature, really. It's to prevent war between our kinds. Which, unfortunately, is exactly what Grindelwald wants, and he's working with HYDRA to achieve those means. Somehow, this Schmidt character has gotten his hands on some powerful magical artifact. Do you remember the blue beams and glowing weapons? That's magic, in a pure form. This is bad news for both the Wizarding World and your World, because we'll both be crushed under Grindelwald and HYDRA's foot."

Bucky let out a low whistle.

"Well, that would explain it."

Before they could get into any more discussion about the Wizarding World, Rogers showed up. Bucky stood up to congratulate him belatedly on his transformation and his promotion, hugging the tall man and patting him heavily on the back.

"I'm looking for men to join me in fighting HYDRA." Rogers said, cutting straight to the point, "You know any guys willing to join?"

At his words, Bucky ends up turning to where Morita and his ex-cellmates were laughing heartily at a joke Dugan had just told, and cocked his head over to where they sat.

"There's those bunch of bozos that'll help. Good teamwork, but they're all idiots." Bucky replied, causing Tom to snort into his Butterbeer.

Rogers simply rolled his eyes and marched over to where the men sat. Tom craned his neck a little to see how the meeting would play out. Dugan and Jones slapped the super soldier on the back before offering him a seat at their table. Once Captain Rogers had seated, he proceeded to tell the men the same thing he had asked Tom and Bucky.

"So, let's get this straight." Dugan started, before guzzling his beer down.

"We barely got out of there alive, and you want us to go back?" Jones asked nigh incredulously.

"Pretty much." Rogers answered truthfully.

"Sounds rather fun, actually." Falsworth eventually said, looking around the table with a smile.

Morita belches loudly before grinning and giving the Captain an "I'm in."

Dernier began to shout something animatedly in French, before Jones replied in kind. With a shout of something in French, Dernier grabbed Jones' hand and shook it heartily in happiness (probably because the American could actually speak French) before the two looked back at Captain Rogers.

"We're in." Jones said, motioning to the two of them.

This made Rogers turn to Dugan, who raised his mug to take another drink from it.

"Hell, I'll always fight. But you got to do one thing for me."

"What's that?" Rogers asked nigh sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

"Open a tab!" Dugan answered with gusto, raising his mug high, Rogers standing up to do just that.

"Well, that was easy." Morita commented from behind the tall soldier.

"Another round." Rogers tells Leach, who looks at the men incredulously.

"Where are they putting all this stuff?" Leach wonders aloud in exasperation.

By the time Rogers got back to Bucky, Tom was attempting not to laugh at the whole situation.

"See? I told you. They're all idiots." Bucky told Rogers with certainty.

"How about you?" Rogers asked Bucky with a knowing smile, "You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?"

To Tom's surprise, Bucky shook his head.

"Hell, no." Bucky told him, before continuing, "That little guy from Brookly who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. I'm following him."

The smile on Rogers' face could be compared to that of a Lumos Maxima. He then turned hopefully to Tom, blue eyes akin to that if puppy dogs.

"I'm not in your military, but if there was a way, know that I would join." Tom answered solemnly, staring at the wall that most likely led to the bar's entrance to The Leaky Cauldron, "Things are getting far too dangerous around here not to."

"But you're keeping the outfit, right?" Bucky said after Rogers had taken Tom's answer to mean yes.

"You know what?" Rogers replied, glancing at the Captain America touring poster that had a large red stamp claims that it was cancelled, "It's kind of growing on me."

Suddenly, all the singing began to putter out, and the reason for it made her way to where Rogers was standing. It was that woman from before, the one with the chemistry with Rogers. She wore a tight fitting dress, Gryffindor crimson. Tom wondered why that was such a popular color, but then again, she didn't wear it for him. Bucky stood up in attention, and Tom followed suit, regarding her with calculating blue eyes.

"Captain." was what she said.

"Agent Carter." returned Rogers, and Tom could almost see the connection between them.

Was this what love was? Was this the kind of connection he was denied by the circumstances of his birth? Just looking at them made his own heart race, as if piggybacking on it. It was both painful and exhilarating to look at.

"Ma'am." Bucky nearly stuttered out, staring at her figure.

"Howard has some equipment for you to try." Agent Carter told Rogers, not even glancing at Bucky, "Tomorrow morning?"

"Sounds good." Rogers answered, watching as Agent Carter turned to glance at the table Dugan and the others were around, loudly singing.

"I see your top squad is prepping for duty." she commented with a wry smirk.

"You don't like music?" Bucky asked, attempting to flirt, but Agent Carter's eyes never left Rogers.

"I do, actually. I might even, when this is all over, go dancing." she replied.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Tom cut in, trying to both save Bucky from the embarrassment and push Rogers to _bloody ask her to dance_.

"The right partner." she answered, still staring at Rogers, "O-Eight hundred, Captain." Agent Carter added, walking away, not even glancing at Tom as she did so.

"Yes, ma'm. I'll be there." Rogers blurted out mechanically, still looking at her retreating form.

Tom coughed into his fist before looking pointedly at Rogers, who turned to the teenage wizard in confusion. Honestly it was painful how clueless he was. His head nodded over to the leaving Agent Carter.

"She didn't have to dress up like that, you know." Tom told him as nonchalantly as possible, trying very hard not to spell it out for the man, "Perhaps you shouldn't let that go to waste."

"I can't." Rogers replied, shaking his head, "She and Howard Stark are...fondue?"

For a couple seconds Bucky and Tom stared at Rogers as if the soldier were a zoo animal, before catching onto what was happening and promptly broke out into voracious laughter. One look at Rogers' confused face made them laugh even harder, if that was possible.

"Captain Rogers..." Tom gasped out, trying to catch his breath, "Fondue is...cheese and bread...it doesn't mean...oh Merlin..."

Understanding dawned on Rogers, and he quickly, though not gracefully, he turned around to catch up with Agent Carter, who had stopped to see what was happening with a raised eyebrow. Tom inconspicuously slid his wand out of his holster, casting a similar charm on the pair that he had used on Jormungand. Nobody will disturb them now. And finally his chest could get some peace from the strain watching the two of them tiptoe around each other.

"Agent Carter!" Rogers called out, before jogging up to her, "Uh, I was wondering if you, uh, could teach me how to dance." he began to stumble over his words, not seeing the brilliant smile that appeared on Agent Carter's face, "For, uh, later, when you...start dancing?"

Agent Carter did her best impression of someone considering the notion heavily, though Tom knew from her body language that she was relieved that he finally got the hint. He managed to turn his head away from their private moment, instead shifting his attention to Bucky, who was also trying not to stare at the pair.

"I'm invisible." he mock gasped, "I'm...I'm turning into Steve. It's like some horrible dream."

A chuckle escaped Tom's throat, and internally he realized that this was the most he's laughed he's in life. It was a good feeling. He found it ironic that he felt more at ease here, in this bar, with a sputtering Bucky Barnes, a tableful of soldiers, and the slow dancing Captain Rogers and Agent Carter than he ever had at Hogwarts. Of course, he didn't belong here, but it was alright to pretend for now that he was.

All moments, however, must come to and end.

The tinkle of the bell at the entrance was barely heard above the noise. Two men entered, then three more, slamming the door shut behind them. Each wore Wizarding robes, with a distinct patch of their arms. It seemed that Grindelwald's followers ended up finding him sooner that he had estimated. Immediately the patrons sitting at the front of the pub stood up in surprise, before being blasted into the wall with a flick of a wand. This made the entire pub stand up, and Tom undid the spells on his snake and the couple dancing, who were now standing, ready to fight. One of the wizards, the apparent leader of the group of five, strode out from the crowd, his shrewd eyes landing on Tom.

"I was told of a wizard who was no stranger to the Dark Arts, who's tongue was that of Great Slytherin's, and yet fraternizes with _filth_." the voice was soft, dangerous, and Tom hid away all his fear and glared.

"That would be me, yes." he answered, his wand already sliding into his palm.

"Then you know that this CANNOT BE ALLOWED!" the wizard roared, and he and his group raised their wands.

A cacophony of spells came from their mouths, and Tom responded in kind. Tables were turned to dust, the soldiers attacking the wizards with broken bottles and mugs. Agent Carter was better prepared, firing her revolver at the men, even managing to hit three down before running out of bullets. Rogers, on the other hand, had taken a broken tabletop and began to use it as a shield (what is with this man and shields? Tom thought to himself).

Tom threw curses upon curses, before he was forced to hold a shield charm to prevent the other patrons from getting killed. From the corner of his eye he saw Leach sneak to the painting on the far end, knocking on it a couple times. Help would hopefully be arriving soon, he wasn't sure how long he could hold up the shield under the barrage of spellfire. Rogers had come foreword as much as he could, but had to run for cover when his makeshift shield was transfigured into mud. Soon enough it was only Tom up against two of Grindelwald's followers. He couldn't use Fiendfyre again, everyone would perish, so had to stick to close quarters spells.

"Baubillious!" he shouted, sending lightning from his wand, which was unfortunately blocked easily by one of the men.

He barely had enough time to put up a shield before he was assaulted by more spells. With a deft wrist he flung dark curse after dark curse, his lips moving almost to fast to see as he attempted to keep up with these men. This was not like before, those wizards had been unprepared and out in the open. Too much could go wrong here. A spell shot over to Grindelwald's followers from behind Tom, catching all three of them unawares. The two wizards were bowled over from the sheer power of the spell, and Tom turned to look behind him.

It was Dumbledore, greying auburn hair and beard furrowing in confusion and surprise. Tom took this moment of surprise to stun the two wizards with stunning spells before tying them up and taking their wands. Once that was done, he turned to Dumbledore and bowed slightly.

"Thank you, Professor."

"Mr. Riddle." Dumbledore croaked out, "I must say, I'm surprised you're here. You have been missing for quite some time."

"I know, sir." Tom replied, "But things happened. The War has changed. It's much worse than what we thought it was. Grindelwald holds power to destroy the world as we know it, and it's in the hands of muggles who have somehow managed to harness magic."

With a flourish of his wand, Dumbledore began to repair the damaged pub. Tables and mugs and bottles flew back to their proper place, awing the soldiers that were watching. It was then that Dumbledore saw that, indeed, everyone except Tom, Leach, the downed wizards and himself were muggles.

"It seems it's not only the War that has changed, Tom." Dumbledore told him softly, eyes twinkling.

"Pardon me," came the voice of Agent Carter, who was marching up to them with a confused Captain Rogers in tow, "But who on Earth are you people?"

"We are wizards, Agent Carter." Tom began before Dumbledore could open his mouth, and a quick glance showed the shock on the older man's face, "These men were followers of Grindelwald, the mind behind Hitler. He and his followers are working with HYDRA, which every soldier here can account for."

"It is dangerous to speak of such things to muggles." Dumbledore said softly, though his eyes conveyed something much different.

"We have no _choice_." Tom replied with fervor, "The Ministry does nothing, the Aurors have done nothing, and you have done nothing to stop him. Someone has to, and it's through these men, through finding HYDRA."

"Mr. Riddle." Agent Carter said tightly, "I'd like you to follow Captain Rogers in his meeting tomorrow. Howard Stark should see you too."

"Of course, Agent Carter." he bowed slightly to her, and she marched out of the pub with the aforementioned soldier.

Dumbledore' eyes seemed to positively _sparkle_ with an emotion Tom couldn't pinpoint. He craned forward and lowered himself down to the teen's height to whisper in his ear.

"Then I suggest hiding your...friends elsewhere before the Aurors arrive. I will handle them myself.

Tom's eyes began to widen. He almost forgot about the Statute of Secrecy. With a flurry of movement Tom strode with purpose, grabbing Bucky's forearm tightly and telling him to follow his lead. Dugan and the others followed his lead, and they all made their way out of the pub. Just in time, too. As soon as they rounded the corner, Tom heard the tell tale cracks of apparition. Since they were all dressed in muggle clothing, the disguised Aurors passed them by and continued into the pub. They manage to catch up with Agent Carter and Captain Rogers, the latter of which turned to Tom worriedly.

"You guys okay? That was some fight back there."

The men all nodded in affirmation, prompting the Captain to continue.

"So what happens to all the soldiers that didn't leave?"

"They will be Obiviated, memories erased of the entire incident. It's painless, and they won't notice a thing off afterwards." Tom explained quietly.

"Thanks, then, for getting us out of that." Bucky muttered afterwards, the rest of the group mumbling similar sentiments.

Eventually they had to part ways, Agent Carter to give a report on what she had seen to Colonel Philips, and Tom and the soldiers back to the barracks. They said their farewells and made their ways to their destinations. Bucky and Captain Rogers seemed to be whispering to one another, but Tom paid them no heed.

Dumbledore was a very perplexing man, but he truly hoped the man had taken his warning to heart. The look in his eyes made it hard to judge, as Tom couldn't seem to read what it was, but seeing how quickly Tom was tracked down using the Wizarding Rumor Mill, the Professor should at least consider attempting to help...

And yet, hadn't he? He let Tom go, along with the muggles he had befriended, knowing full well that they were going to tell others about the existence of magic. Dumbledore had never taken such liberties with Tom before. Maybe to his Gryffindors, but not to a Slytherin like Tom. All of a sudden, his brain managed to understand what he had seen in his Professor's twinkling eyes.

 _Pride_.


	6. Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it come down to theory, is Science and Magic really that different? In that case, can that also be said of muggles and magicals?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to leave Kudos!

It was nearly eight o'clock in the bloody morning as Tom and Captain Rogers strode down the hidden passageways underneath London, making their way to Howard Stark's laboratory. Captain Rogers was wearing his official American army uniform, the same one he had worn the night before, while Tom was dressed in his best muggle clothes, which closely matched the transfigured outfit the he had temporarily used for the last few days. He was able to purchase a set of regular clothes after the incident with the pub, Bucky and Rogers helping him to not appear to be a complete idiot when it came to muggle clothes.

"So you've decided to drop out of school to fight?" Rogers asked with no condescension in his voice.

"I can always return to school, Captain Rogers." Tom replied simply, "I can only fight in the War once."

They walked in a comfortable silence for a while, Tom following the tall soldier through the white corridors filled with shelves, paperwork, and people bustling in and out. It was truly a muggle version of the Ministry, though Tom would bet that those who worked at the Strategic Scientific Reserve were far smarter than the Ministry idiots. Though perhaps these people were more like the Unspeakables, which made a lot more sense in his mind as soon as he thought of it.

A blonde woman in a military uniform was sitting down, reading the newspaper. Thankfully, Tom noticed as his blue eyes flickered to and fro the pages, there was no mention of the pub fight the day before, only the heroic actions of Captain America freeing hundreds of prisoners.

“Um…” Rogers mumbled, before raising his voice, “We’re here to see Howard Stark.”

“He's busy at the moment, he should be here shortly.” the woman quipped without looking up.

Once she did, however, she had the same glint in her eye as Walburga Black. Tom shuddered at the memory. As young as the girl was, somehow she got it into her head that she was going to marry the Heir of Slytherin. A large portion of corridor time was spent actively avoiding the Slytherin girl as much as he could.

“Read about what you did.” the woman said in a sultry manner, holding up the paper so that Captain Rogers could see his face on the page.

“Oh! The...yeah!” Rogers stuttered nervously, obviously uncomfortable with the tone of voice, “Well, that's you know? Just doin' what needed to be done.”

It was like Tom was invisible, and the wizard surely was not going to let Bucky’s good friend fall into the clutches of this blonde woman (too much like Walburga, retreat! Retreat!). He slid his wand out from under his sleeve, both hands behind his back. The woman got up from her place at the table, sitting on the desk in what Tom assumed was supposed to be a sensual manner.

“Sounded like more than that. You saved nearly four hundred men.” she insisted.

“Really, it's not a big deal.” Rogers answered, and Tom could tell that he meant it.

“Tell that to their wives.” the woman rebutted, slowly walking up to Captain Rogers.

“Uh...I don't think they were all married.” Rogers said, swallowing uncomfortably.

It was obvious she was making the poor man nervous. As inconspicuously as he could, which wasn't much considering that Captain Rogers was too busy trying not to run away from the woman that was intent on catching her prey. He waited for the right moment, attempting to catch Rogers’ eye. Blue eyes with a hint of green met glittering blue that seemed to shift from deep to bright, and conveyed the message of ‘HELP ME’ very clearly. Tom nodded from behind the woman, a serpent ready to strike.

“You're a hero.” she purred out, leaning closer.

“And you're a twat,” Tom muttered under his breath, “Petrificus Totalus!”

The blonde woman in front of him had a stricken look on her face as her arms and legs suddenly snapped to the side and she fell forward. Rogers was able to catch her and lean her on the wall like a wooden board. He turned to Tom with relief and curiosity.

“Thank you.” Rogers breathed out, “And what was that?”

“Full body bind jinx. Useful in certain situations. It’ll wear off in a few hours, but I'll cancel it once Mr. Stark comes along.”

They didn't have to wait for very long. A minute later had Agent Carter coming round the bend to greet them, a smile on her face as she saw Rogers. She took a couple steps forward before she noticed the blonde woman paralyzed and still. An eyebrow arched on her face, staring at the two of them. Rogers grinned sheepishly at her, scratching the back of his head while Tom was openly smug.

“She was going for someone that wasn't hers, and Captain Rogers was too polite to hit a woman.” Tom told her simply, cracking a grin, “I had to improvise.”

Agent Carter rolled her eyes at Tom, though the smile never left her face. She told them that Howard Stark was ready for them, and led them into the man’s laboratory. Tom shot a Finite Incantatum as he nearly rounded the corner, freeing the blonde woman who fell to the floor with an audible thump, and a shuffle of clothes told Tom that she managed to get up on her own just fine.

Howard Stark ended up being a man in his late twenties with dark, slick back hair and a thin mustache. Agent Carter left the three males and marched towards her next destination. By the time Tom noticed that Rogers and Stark had already trailed away, the two were already in a conversation about the blonde woman’s actions earlier.

“But I didn't know she would go and do that!” Rogers all but yelped.

“Nor should you, pal.” Stark replied easily, “The moment you think you know what's goin' on in a woman's head, is the moment your goose is well and truly cooked. Me, I concentrate on work. Which at the moment is about making sure you and your men do not get killed.”

The scientist casually walked over to one of the tables, where a strange, lumpy dark sheet laid.

“Carbon polymer, should withstand your average German bayonet. Although, uh, HYDRA’s not gonna attack you with a pocket knife.”

Tom assumed this fabric was one to go inside the Captain’s new battle uniform, as he highly doubted the soldier wanted to continue wearing the elastic outfit he had at the moment. Stark continued to move along the side tables, knocking his fist upon the shield that Rogers had used to rescue Tom and the others.

“I hear you're uh...kinda attached?” Stark continued with a raised eyebrow.

“It's handier than you might think.” Rogers defended, looking back at the slightly battered shield.

Stark seemed to give Rogers an incredulous look before pointing to some rather strange looking shields, each with a vastly different design and metals. Tom was absolutely fascinated, and wondered what each of them did.

“I took the liberty of coming up with some options.” the young scientist started, “This one's fun. She's been fitted with electrical relays. It'll allow you to-”

“What about this one?” Rogers interrupted, picking up a circular shield.

It appeared to be a traditional shield, but it looked to be made out of silver. Judging from the weight, however, it was impossible. Silver was far heavier than this shield, which gleamed in the light. It's metallic sheen appealed to him, though it's two concentric inner circles design was a little too simple for him.

“No!” Stark said, “No! That's just a prototype.”

“What's it made of?” Rogers asked in curiosity, examining the shield closely.

“Vibranium.” Stark answered, “It's stronger than steel and a third of the weight. It's completely vibration absorbent.”

Vibranium, that was a metal Tom had never heard of before. He supposed its vibration absorption trait was what gave the metal its name. Its properties sounded incredibly impressive, like the Diamond of metals. Tom wondered if he would be able to either somehow procure this metal or use magic to mimic its effects, because this seemed highly efficient.

“How come it's not a standard issue?” asked Rogers in confusion, obviously not realizing that this was probably a rare substance.

“That's the rarest metal on earth.” Stark replied almost incredulously, confirming Tom’s suspicion, “What you're holding there? That's all we've got.”

Rogers turned to Tom, holding his shield up in front, smiling like a loon.

“Hey Tom, what do you think?”

It was only then that Stark realized there was another person in their group, and his eyes widened.

“Wait, I've never seen you around before. You an agent? The Cap’s assistant, maybe?”

Tom raised a single eyebrow at Stark, before sliding his wand out of his sleeve. He highly doubted that the Ministry had traces this far underground, considering that no warning had been given after his jinx in the blonde woman, and so had no qualms firing offensive spell after offensive spell at the Captain. Spells that disintegrate targets, explosive spells, transformative spells, everything that could effect the strongest of metals. Some spells bounced off the shield with a resonant bang, flying across the room to hit and destroy other items in the room, while the shield managed to absorb some of the more dangerous spells, including the transfiguration ones.

“Crucio! Bombarda! Avada Kedavra!” Tom cried, and the shield absorbed it all.

“What the hell was that?!” Stark yelped, clutching the table in surprise.

Rogers looked at Tom with wide eyes as the wizard caught his breath, lowering down the shield slowly.

“…Was that a test?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” Tom replied breathlessly, sliding his wand back in his holster, “And that shield passed with flying colors. You could storm Nurmengard with it and still be unaffected.”

Rogers and Stark then spoke at the same time.

“Thanks…but what's Nurmengard?”

“Ok really what _are_ you?!”

“I'm a wizard, Mr. Stark, which is why Agent Carter told me to come meet with you.” Tom told the inventor with a smirk, before a frown returned to his face, “Nurmengard is a prison in the mountainous range that borders Germany and Czech. It's where Grindelwald keeps all his political enemies and other people of interest that were in his way.”

Tom watched as Rogers paled at his words. His mind began to tick, trying to find the reason for this reaction, before Agent Carter showed up.

“I see you've found a shield to call your own?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, and Rogers nodded grimly.

“We have a problem, I need to get the map with the known HYDRA bases.” he told her in his ‘Captain’ voice, his mouth set in a serious frown.

“Then let me show you where we've put the smaller version of it.” Agent Carter replied, matching his tone.

Rogers handed Stark a slip of paper.

“Also, I had some ideas about the uniform.” he told the scientist before turning around again.

“Whatever you want, pal.” Stark said with a bewildered expression, taking the slip of paper and pocketing it.

Agent Carter and Captain Rogers then promptly left the laboratory, leaving Tom and Stark incredibly confused. Stark, who seemed to bounce back quickly, turned to Tom and extended his hand.

“So you're a wizard, huh? Like, the thing you pulled out was a magic wand and the lights you fired were magic spells?”

“That's correct.” Tom answered, shaking the man's hand, “I am Tom Riddle.”

“Howard Stark, but I think you already knew that. So, about this whole magic thing…”

* * *

“So this blue stuff is solid Magic?” Howard asked, nervously eyeing where Tom was levitating the blue speck extracted from the HYDRA core.

“That would be correct, though I have never seen such a thing before, it is undoubtedly what it is, and Grindelwald wishes to seize its source from HYDRA.” Tom explained, inspecting the piece, though only Howard noticed that Tom’s eyes had the exact same shade of it.

“Sooo, this is one of those backstabbing bad guys kind of deal?”

“Yes.”

It had been two hours and neither Agent Carter nor Captain Rogers had returned yet. Perhaps the Captain’s urgency sparked a meeting, which is why they were held up. In the meantime, Tom and Howard got to know each other a little better, shooting out magical and scientific theories and the like, both brainstorming the creations they could make with the other’s expertise. It was then that Howard had decided to show Tom the strange matter that Captain Rogers had procured from the HYDRA base, which led Tom to explain the basics of magic and current war mingled state it was in.

So here they were now, in a sectioned off part of Howard's lab, studying the small piece of solid magic that the scientist had managed to isolate. It made Tom wonder what was the source of such magic, and how he could get his hands on such a thing. Whatever it was, it must be immensely powerful. Tom’s eyes gleamed at the possibilities, not going unnoticed by Howard.

“So you plan on getting it from them.” Howard asked nonchalantly, his hands fiddling with some sort of radiation meter.

“Yes, I do.” Tom told him, carefully levitating the piece back into the makeshift stand the inventor had made.

“For what?” was the question then asked as beeps began to emanate from the machine.

“…..Who knows? Whatever this source is will open infinite possibilities to what can be achieved with both magic and technology. In the Wizarding World this item would be locked up in the Ministry as they decided on how to use it for their own purposes. With the right runic arrays they could allow muggles to use magic, which is precisely why they would want to hide such a thing. I cannot let this happen.” Tom explained, allowing the piece to hover above his left hand.

“So how about you tell me how these Runes work, how do they channel this magic stuff?” Howard replied, his eyes still watching as Tom hovered the glowing piece right above his ring.

“I see where your mind is headed, and yes, runes usually channel magic from its surroundings, but if you have a stone saturated with magic, they will draw energy directly from that instead. Were you to place this solid piece of magic in anything with a rune array, the runes will draw from its apparently infinite wells of magical energy, powering whatever task the runes were made to do.” Tom explained, noticing a curious glint in Howard’s eyes, and motioned to his ring where the Stone’s rune was glowing slightly, “This is an ancient magical artifact, one that has been in my family for many generations. It is the Resurrection Stone of Cadmus, and it appears to channel magic from the world beyond to bring back wisps of those who have crossed there. Without the rune, this Stone would not work.”

“So then, if we stuck say, this piece of glowing solid magic encased in a stone of some sort into the middle of a piece of metal and crave runes all on the metal, it’s possible to mimic the properties of Vibranium?” Howard murmured, who had put down the machine and was writing something onto his notepad.

“In theory, yes.” Tom mused, “Are you willing to give it a try?”

“Only if you're willing to help out.” Howard shot back, knowing full well Tom’ answer.

“But of course, as long as I get to keep the final product.”

“Plan on using it in the field, huh? You got yourself a deal.”

Tom and Howard were shaking hands when Captain Rogers and Agent Carter returned with the map, grim looks on their faces. The wizard and the inventor looked up to see them with perplexed expressions.

“Sorry I'm late.” Rogers started, laying down the map on a cleared table, “We had a meeting discussing something and got sidetracked.”

“Your words about this Nurmengard sparked some interest, Mr. Riddle, and I'd like to get some answers.” Agent Carter continued, pointing to the map, where there were pins marking certain areas, “Could you please point out the approximate location of Nurmengard?”

Tom loomed over the map, studying it intently. His eyes widened. Where Nurmengard was located was already pinned. What was this map looking at? None of the other pins seemed to correlate with magical places, and they were scattered all across Europe. Ah, Rogers had said something about known HYDRA bases before he left, could this mean that Nurmengard was considered a HYDRA base?

“You have it pinned already, here. At this spot in between Germany and Czech.” he answered with a raised eyebrow, “What is this map used for, Captain Rogers? You seem rather distraught.”

“This is a map of all known HYDRA bases. I pinned down every mark I saw on the wall of the HYDRA base that we escaped from. As you can see, Nurmengard in on here as well.” Rogers explained, his face grim.

Howard and Agent Carter also had serious, worried expressions on their faces, but Tom was not to be moved by such things.

“As I told Howard before, Grindelwald is only using HYDRA to get to whatever power source Schmidt is using. He is not working with them. His prejudice against muggles will prevent him from properly working together with HYDRA. It's why the facility in Austria only had two wizards there. They believe that HYDRA can do nothing against the, because they have magic and HYDRA does not. This is a common outlook for most wizards anyway, which is why none have joined the allied forces.” Tom said in exasperation, “They may seem like a united front but they are not.”

“And what about you, Tom? You don't seem to hate…muggles.” Rogers shot back, confused.

“Oh, I was just like them when I was first captured in the HYDRA base.” Tom laughed out, to the people in the room’s horror, “I thought muggles were all backwards idiots that needed to be crushed under the might of the Wizarding World, as it was muggles who forced us into hiding in the first place. But then I saw HYDRA for what is was, and I met Bucky, Dugan, Jones, Flasworth and Dernier. It changed my perception of you lot. So now I'm helping you, because we have the same goal, in the end. To stop HYDRA and Grindelwald, and make sure the world does not have to bow to their regime.”

“And after you help us with that?” Agent Carter asked suspiciously.

“Go back to school, Agent Carter. I did drop out to help you, after all.” Tom replied smoothly, “But truly, I'm not quite sure. They said I'd make a good Minister of Magic, but politicians are all corrupt these days, and there really isn't much I'd be able to do there once word of me attacking Grindelwald's followers leaks into the inner circles of the Purebloods who control the way our little World works. I'd be branded as a blood traitor for working with muggles like this, not to mention a blatant and horrendous breach in the Statute of Secrecy…”

“Why do you even need a Statue of Secrecy?” Rogers asked in polite confusion.

“Because, Captain Rogers, we magicals were hunted by muggles, for fear and jealousy take hold of men so easily.” Tom explained a little sourly, “To avoid conflict and war and persecution, we simply hid ourselves away from the muggle side of the world. In turn this led the Purebloods, that means exactly what you think it means, to control the Wizarding World as it is now. So we continue to hide from you, and yet many believe themselves to be above you, as I once did. It is difficult for those young wizards and witches without an old pureblood name to find their foothold in that world, so I'm quite sure it will be difficult for me as well, even if I am the Heir of Slytherin. The class system prevents many things, Captain Rogers, and the hard work that I've put into making a higher ground for me has been for nought with my actions yesterday.”

Tom linked his hands behind his back and sighed, standing tall. Saying his problems out loud might not have been the best idea, but he needed them to trust him. These people also needed to understand why the Wizarding World isn't going to help them win the fight in this war, too busy with their own sheltered lives and protective wards.

“…Very well, Mr. Riddle, you have made your point.” Agent Carter finally said after a moment of silence had passed between them, “I will report this to Colonel Philips. Thank you, Mr. Riddle, for sharing this information with us.”

With her heels clicking on the concrete floor, Agent Carter made her way to where he assumed Colonel Philips was, her form fading away around the corner just as the men around him come to their senses. Tom kept his eyes away from their faces. He did not want to see the pity that was most likely there.

“…Right.” Rogers eventually said in bewilderment, “I'll be gathering the other guys for lunch. Are you coming, Tom?”

“I will meet you there, Captain Rogers, there's a little more I have to do here with Howard, but I will join you momentarily.” Tom murmured softly, thankful that they weren't going further into the previous subject.

At this, Rogers simply nodded before marching out of the room. It was Howard that then turned to Tom, notepad still in his hands.

“So, are there any designs that you had in mind for the magical knockoff Vibranium shield?” was what he asked, causing Tom to chuckle a little.

“Magical knockoff…well, yes, there is a design I'd like to see implemented. It's a stone and metal array commonly used for magical shields back in the medieval times, along with a couple of family insignias. Should scare Grindelwald and HYDRA.” he answered with a tone of mystery, chest already lightening.

“Right then.” Howard replied, rubbing his hands together, open notepad between his fingers, “Lets get started then!”

* * *

“Hey Tom! We’re over here!” shouted the excited voice of Bucky, waving the teenage wizard over to where he, Captain Rogers, and his former cellmates were sitting at the diner.

They were seated next to two larger tables put together, forming an eight seated table. The empty spot was on the end, with Bucky sitting next to it and Dugan seated across from it. Tom gracefully took his seat at the table, folding his arms across the counter. The group seemed to be looking at him expectantly.

“So what did you talk about with Stark?” Bucky asked in curiosity.

“Well, we are currently trying to come up with what Howard called a ‘Magical Knockoff Vibranium’, using runes, stones, metals, and that odd form of solid magic that Captain Rogers managed to steal from HYDRA’s facility in Austria.” Tom murmured lowly, to quiet for eavesdroppers but loud enough for the group to hear.

A couple people chuckled at his wording, while others looked intrigued, mainly the Captain and Bucky. Rogers stared at him in dawning understanding, while Bucky reached into his pocket for something. When he pulled out his hands, they held a sleeping Jormungand, snoring gutsy and mumbling things in his sleep.

“He's been sleeping all day, it's probably too cold out here in England for him, but I guess it's better than the Alps?” Bucky said aloud, handing over the sleeping asp viper to Tom.

Tom gratefully accepted the sleeping snake into his arms, which began to wake up. Jormungand groggily looked up at his master, slowly coiling around Tom’s shoulders before falling asleep again. He wasn't as talkative as Nagini was, which both a blessing and a curse.

“So, about this shield design, what does it look like?” Rogers asked after he was sure the snake was back to snoozing contentedly on Tom’s shoulders.

Tom took out a folded piece of paper and opened it up, carful not to rip it. In neat pencil was a circle, grey scribbled and a label signifying that it was to be a steel shield with a silver coating. Three concentric circles, much like the Captain’s own Vibranium shield, were drawn inside the original circle, though the inner two seemed to have been erased. Runes were inscribed in darker pencil around the rim and between the first (outer) circle and the second circle in beautiful and dangerous arrays for lightness, hardness, sharpness, unbreakability, with room for more. Inside the inner circle were two simply drawn green colored snakes, intertwining around each other to form an ‘S’ and looping their heads around their own tails. The small, square-diamond shaped opening in the center of the two snakes was shaded in completely.

A couple of people whistled at the design, including Bucky.

“So, I get the snake theme, but why that design? Does it mean anything?” Bucky asked after a few seconds of staring at the drawing.

“Yes, it is the Slytherin Coat of Arms, as you may have derived from the shaped they form, but they also have another meaning. It's the symbol of Loki, the god of mischief, who is the Slytherin family’s patron god. Since we are dealing with unknown power in the hands of a man who believes himself to be a god, I thought it fitting to invoke a god’s insignia in defiance of that idea.” Tom explained with a wide smile.

“And what about this black diamond for then?” Rogers asked in curiosity, tapping the shape at the center of the entire shield.

“That's not a black diamond, it's an indentation.” Tom answered with a smirk, tapping the ring on his finger where a diamond shaped stone was inset into the gold, rune glowing slightly, “For this.”


	7. Shields and Uniforms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In medieval times, your shield carried your family crest. In any time, a uniform represented belonging, those who wear it become like family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to leave Kudos!

It was…beautiful.

Tom marveled at the shield in front of him, running his fingers over the runes carved by his own precise hands on the outer rim with unhidden glee. He and Howard had truly outdone themselves. The shield was even more awe inspiring as the near-finished product than it had been as a drawing. Silver was a brilliant conductor of magic, as well as a deterrent to many dark creatures. It was also very responsive to runic commends. Within the inner circle of the silver coated steel was the symbol of Loki, the two snakes carved out of a dark green jade. Each snake’s visible eye was inset as a gemstone, the upper snake with a sapphire eye and the lower snake with a ruby eye. The gemstones were to act as magical stabilizers, while the jade siphoned the energy to its proper area, like blood vessels. The heart of the shield, however, was still missing, with only a diamond shaped indentation in the middle of the whole thing. Tom turned the shield over, looking at its underside. A silver, ornate bazuband was seemingly welded onto the back of the shield, though no welded areas were visibly present.

“Pretty thing, ain't it?” came the voice of Howard, who was standing behind Tom for quite some time, making the wizard jump in surprise.

“My question from before still stands, how were to able to procure all this material in such a short span of time?” Tom muttered, his voice slightly wavered from the jump he had seconds before.

“I'm a rich, influential man with a multi-million dollar company. There's almost nothing I can't get.” Howard replied smugly, “Now, are you ready to put in the final piece? God, this feels like a fantasy novel or something.”

The young wizard simply nodded, casted a spell on the ring to bend back the metal holding the object of interest in place and letting the Stone fall into the palm of his hand. With careful hands Tom set it into the center of the shield. Almost immediately the Stone began to glow, before the light began to spread. When the light reached the snakes’ heads, their eyes emitted a light as if someone had cast a Lumos behind them. Then the magic finally spread out to the runes, filling them with a dull golden light, the same color as the rune inside the Stone of Cadmus.

“Okay, not gonna lie. That's cool.” was all Howard could manage out, his eyes fixated on the shield in awe.

Tom slid the band over his left arm, the metal fitting perfectly over his entire forearm. As the magic from the shield resized the band to fit his arm, Tom couldn't help but feel like the Battle Mages of old, fighting valiantly with wand and shield, armor and cloak. It had once been a dream of his to become such a Mage, and now it felt like it was coming true.

Testing the shield, he found it to be very light, but not ridiculously so. But merely a pretty shield it was not, and Tom had taken the liberty to carve some more…interesting and useful runes onto the rim. The shield was, in essence, a kind of magical focus. Body of metal, with the Stone as the core, and the precious stones as the buffers. The difference was is that the ‘spells’ cast were onto the shield itself and nothing else, which meant they were more like commands in a simple machine.

He coaxed his magic into it, urging his creation to do his bidding. The rim of the shield began to sharpen and spin, slowly at first but then faster, creating a deadly whirring saw on the edge of the shield. A flex of his wrist slowed it down. Another command was sent through his arm, and the entire thing began to glow. With a quick flick of his wrist a still doppelgänger of himself appeared, but fizzled out after a few seconds. Good, he didn't quite need a long term dummy, just a short term escape. Fingers gripped the edge, detaching the shield effortlessly from the metal arm cover. There, in the center of the ornate armband was another diamond shaped indentation, which is where the two pieces of metal connected. He put the shield back in place with a barely audible click.

Now came the feature that Tom was most proud of. A flick of the wrist and the command was sent into the shield, which began to fold into itself, shrinking and detracting until only the metal armband was left, the Stone of Cadmus nestled into the previously empty indentation. By far the most useful feature, Tom had thought to himself while making it, as a shield can be rather cumbersome to carry around.

Howard appeared to shake himself out of his stupor, and went over to Tom. With a hand he beckoned the wizard to hand it over and let the scientist give it a try. Tom smiled wryly, slipping off the silver armband and handing it over.

“It won't work with muggles, you know. It's a magical shield that needs spell-like commends from a wizard.” he told Howard, who still tightened the straps onto his left arm anyway.

“Well, you don't really know unless you try, eh Tom? Now let's see…”

Sure enough, even when the man attempted to copy Tom’s wrist movements, the arm guard did not budge in the slightest. Howard tried again, and again, and again, before eventually sighing and dejectedly giving the object back to Tom, who slid it back onto his forearm and reactivated the shield. The smile on his face was back in seconds, however, and the inventor walked over to the side table where another shield laid. It was Captain Rogers’ Vibranium shield. Howard had jokingly called it the Shield of America, probably poking fun at Tom’s wording of the Resurrection Stone. Flipping the Vibranium shield in his hands, Howard spoke again.

“So, what are you gonna call it?”

“I beg your pardon?” Tom said in confusion, “Call what?”

“Your shield. We need to call it something. Like this thing here is the Shield of America, or the Vibranium Shield. We can't call yours the Magical Knockoff Vibranium Shield because that's too damn long. And MKV Shield just sounds weird. So what'll it be?”

“What is it with muggles and naming things? First my snake, then my shield…” Tom grumbled out, making the scientist laugh.

“Might want to be careful of the accidental innuendos. But naming things is fun! Besides, don't you wizards have names for your magical relics or whatnot? Isn't that rock in the middle there called The Stone of Cadmus?”

“Very well…” the wizard muttered, caving in to Howard’s reasoning, “How about the Shield of Slytherin?”

“Alliteration, that's nice, but a bit of a tongue twister. Say that five times fast. What about…Shield of Riddles?” the inventor tried.

“Definitely not!” Tom almost blanched, “I'd rather not connect a magical item with such a muggle surname!”

“Aw, don't be think that, you said it yourself that you've changed your opinion on us! Still, Slytherin is too weird to say, and Shield of Gaunt makes it sound evil.” Howard reasoned, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff.

“Well, how about some middle ground? This ouroboros symbol on the shield is that of the trickster god Loki, the Slytherin line’s patron deity. So how about the Shield of Loki?” Tom eventually stated, staring at the shield in contemplation.

“That sounds pretty cool, actually, and it's easier to say.” Howard replied, his fingers tapping the gaudy red, white, and blue shield with the white star at the center.

“So how do you even choose your patron god anyway?” came another voice from behind the two men, making them both jump in surprise.

Rogers was standing there with a barely contained smile on his face, in his regular army uniform. Next to him was Bucky, who was trying to force down his smile and failing miserably. Tom recovered first, giving them both a glare without malice.

“A patron god isn't chosen, it is received.” Tom sniffed, still displeased that he hadn't noticed them entering.

“So…what, the god himself has to make him your patron god?” Bucky asked in curiosity.

“In a sense, or another deity could do it for them. Sometimes it is done to fix mistakes, other times it's given as a blessing for the magical line. Back then our kind were called Seidrmandr, and records showed that powerful wizards even fought alongside them in the times when the gods were written to have come down from the heavens. The most powerful Seidr wielders came from a deity’s blessing and patronage, and the Slytherin line is one of them.” Tom explained, rubbing his temples together after detracting his shield.

“So now did your Slytherin guy get this…Loki as a patron god? And what kind of powers did that blessing give you? Are there any other patron gods that people have?” Rogers asked with what Tom was certain were puppy dog eyes.

Tom heaved out a sigh, before leaning back on one of the side tables in the laboratory. It seemed like he was going to have to tell them the story to get them to cease their incessant needling.

“Please remember that most of this comes from the records Salazar Slytherin kept himself. I know not if any of it is true, but it certainly seems plausible.

A very long time ago, Serena Slytherin, my ancestor, was a witch that had contracted a terrible illness due to what records claimed was a Frost Giant attack. Her husband, a Battle Mage, had fought valiantly against them, so well that even the gods were impressed with his skills in magic, even when he fell in battle. She was pregnant with a child at the time, and feared for both her and her unborn child’s safety.

When wise Odin and kind Frigg came to their village so the people may pay homage to them, Serena begged them to help her. Kind Lady Frigg, in a moment of respect and pity, produced a bundle in her hands, sly Loki, then just a babe. For reasons unknown, it was Loki that she bound to Serena and her unborn child. His very blood and essence channeled to heal and empower her with the blessing of what was then a baby god. Serena was healed of her Frostbitten condition, and went on to have a healthy baby boy.

Serena migrated to an Irish village to raise her son, Salazar, in a better climate, so feared that he might succumb to the cold winters of Norway and the gods’ patronage would be for naught. Salazar, on the other hand, seemed to adore the cold. Unlike his blonde haired parents, Salazar was dark haired, a sign of Loki’s bind to his blood. He was also a parselmouth, which is a rare hereditary ability to talk to snakes. It is said that Salazar Slytherin’s cunning and ambition, the very merit of his House, is also due to his ties to Loki.

It is then no coincidence that the other three exceptionally powerful and gifted Seidrmandrs were also blessed and had a patronage of a deity. Godric Gryffindor, who's family patron is mighty Thor, Rowena Ravenclaw, who's blessings came from wise Odin, and Helga Hufflepuff, who gained the adoration of kind Frigg. The four of them built and founded Hogwarts, the school of magic that I went to. It is said that with the power of all four main gods shining upon Hogwarts, the school became a beacon of hope for the magical community of the United Kingdom.”

Tom then flicked his wrist, causing the shield to come out again. It's three stones glowed with power and hidden potential. All three men stared at the shield in a new light.

“The insignia on the Shield of Loki is a way of drawing on the power that was bestowed into my blood since birth, so the shield can only be used to its fullest potential by a member of the Slytherin family, another Bloodline blessed by Loki, though I've heard of none, or the god himself. And let's be honest, I highly doubt any god, never mind Loki, is going to set foot here anytime soon. So as it is right now, I am the only one who can properly use it. Wouldn't want it to be useful in the enemy's hands, after all.” Tom explained further, the silver of the shield gleaming in the dull light of the laboratory, “Even so, it might not be able to absorb all spells, so it's not quite the Vibranium equivalent we had been hoping for.”

“Well…” Rogers began with a smile, taking his own shield handed to him by Howard, “That just means we will have an extra boost on the playing field. No one’s trying to one up another, we’re all on the same team.”

Tom blinked mutely at Captain Rogers. Was this man for real? Such a…wholesome, selfless man truly existed? Bloody hell, sometimes this place seemed so unreal, and that was coming from a wizard.

“Oh yeah, before I forget.” Bucky then said, looking to Howard, “You said that our uniforms were ready?”

“That's right, I've got them in the back.” Howard replied, springing into action and walking towards where some cabinets were in the back of the laboratory, “I'm guessing the other guys didn't want to come?”

“Yeah, they said that they really don't care what they look like as long as it's not brightly colored or anything.” Bucky told the inventor with a smile, a knowing look cast at Rogers, who looked affronted.

Ah yes, the Captain had said before that the ridiculous design of his show uniform had grown on him, so the battle uniform must derive from that. Howard had come back with a pile of clothing, each wrapped in twine. He dumped the entire pile into Rogers’ surprised arms before laughing and patting the soldier’s back.

“Don't worry, I've labeled them all! Though I'm pretty sure you can tell which one’s yours.”

Rogers read the label on the top one, which was obviously the suit for Captain America with its gaudy color scheme matching the shield’s, as well as the fact that this was probably the only uniform to contain a mask. He put it aside, checked the next one, and promptly handed it to Bucky, who squawked in surprise. Bucky looked at the folded bundle over and gave Howard a look.

“Hopefully this works better than it looks.” was the man’s only comment.

“Well if you've got an issue with the design, you better talk to Steve. He designed almost everyone’s uniforms.” Howard shot back with a smirk.

Bucky snorted, leaving Tom slightly confused and with the feeling he was missing out on something.

“Yeah, figures.” was all Bucky muttered in reply, rolling his eyes.

Rogers continued on, listing off Dugan, Jones, Flasworth, Dernier, and Morita, and placing their uniforms down on some free space on the table. Strangely enough, there was one more folded uniform wrapped in twine in his hands. The fabric, as Tom could tell, was pitch black. Was it a spare? _No_ , Tom thought to himself, _none of the other uniforms were this black_. His confusion turned into surprise when Rogers extended his arm with the last uniform towards Tom.

“Take it, Tom.” Rogers said softly, his hand still extended.

Tom slowly reached out. Pale, thin, bony fingers grasped the uniform, blue eyes wide.

“What is…?” was all Tom managed to get out, before Howard answered.

“It's your uniform. What? You thought you wouldn't get one? That'd be mighty suspicious to have one un-uniformed guy around here.”

It clicked. Ah. A disguise to to take the attention off of him. _How thoughtful of them_ , Tom thought genuinely as his fingers traced what looked like borders stitched in a dull gold thread.

“Ah, thank you. I suppose a sort of disguise is needed when working alongside your muggle army.” Tom sighed out, before a chuckle escaped the other three men’s mouths.

“Tom…no…Tom, this…this isn't a disguise!” Bucky managed out between bouts of laughter.

“This is _your_ uniform, Tom.” Rogers told him with a warm smile, “Remember that two hour long meeting Peg- I mean Agent Carter and I were in last week? That was to discuss you. They managed to find your records. Tom Riddle, born to Tom Riddle the senior and raised in Wool’s Orphanage in London. Not much documentation after the age of eleven, I assume that's when you started magic school. Anyways, this was good, because they managed to forge other documentation. In the eyes of the law, you've been in the British Army for two years.”

“Welcome to the Strategic Scientific Reserve, _Sergeant Riddle_.” Howard finished with a smirk, looking pointedly at Tom.

Tom, however, was completely silent. His blue eyes were wide and unseeing, his mind whirling and trying to get a grip on the foreign concept. He hadn't felt like this since Dumbledore told him that he was a wizard, all those years ago in that grey orphanage. This emotion wasn't completely foreign, it had simply been rare. The expression on his face was stricken, and soon the other three men began to get worried.

“…Tom?” tried Rogers, with no reply.

Bucky waved a hand in front of his face.

“…I think we broke him, guys. The lights are on but nobody’s home.” Bucky muttered in half worry and half amusement.

“Bullshit, look at his eyes!” Howard said, trying not to shout.

It was only when the first tear touched his skin that Tom mutely registered what Howard had seen. Before he knew it, a hand came down on his shoulder, squeezing it before another body came onto his, wrapping their arms around him. Judging by the size of the body, it was Rogers. Tom choked back his emotions, embarrassed that he was even losing control like this.

“…I am fine, Captain Rogers.” he mumbled into the soldier's chest, which only made the man squeeze a little tighter.

“It's alright to let your feelings go once in a while, you know.” Rogers instead replied softly, “You're with friends here. You can cry.”

Without permission, stinging tears began to fall as two arms wrapped tightly around the tall figure, one hand clutching the folded uniform. This was acceptance into the fold, a part of something without having to pretend to be someone he wasn't. It seemed lost little Tom wasn't so lost anymore. Choked sobs echoed in the spacious laboratory. No one said a word.

* * *

“So…what do you think?”

Both Bucky and Tom looked up at where Steve had just come out of the changing room.

“You want my honest opinion?” Tom asked slowly, face blank.

“Well, yeah, of course!” he said while the wizard crossed his arms.

“It's ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous.” was Tom’s flat verdict.

Laughter and muffled guffaws came from the other members of the team, who were already decked in their own uniforms. Most of which were in various shades of beige and brown, though Morita’s uniform was on the greener spectrum of the camouflage palate. Bucky’s uniform, however, consisted of a darker, double breasted muted blue coat with grey buttons, separating him from the others with its unique colors and yet connecting him to them with its base military design. They all wore varying forms of hats except for Bucky, who had chucked away his hat and stating that he would rather run into a HYDRA base naked than wear it into battle.

Steve, on the other hand, was a completely different story. If he wanted Captain America to stand out from the rest of his team, he did a bloody good job of it. By far, this was the most patriotic piece of clothing he had ever seen in his life. _Americans_.

“You don't like it?” Steve asked with a slight pout.

“Well, if you were looking for something close to that original monstrosity of a uniform that you wore during your tours then congratulations, you have done wonderfully. You have successfully managed to design a uniform that looks both ostentatiously American and incredibly formidable that my brain hurts to look at you.” Tom snarked out without fail, earning chuckles from those in the room and a smile from Steve.

“But you do think it looks formidable. That's what you said, wasn't it?” the super soldier replied with a grin.

“Yes.” Tom conceded, rubbing his temples, “I will admit it’s symbolic potential, but that doesn't take away the fact that you look like a walking flag.”

Steve gave what Tom would consider puppy dog eyes, but said nothing. Bucky walked up to the wizard and patted him on the back.

“Well, enough stalling. It's your turn now!”

Strong hands pushed Tom into the changing room, who held his wrapped uniform in hand. It was a standard changing room with a mirror on one side and a couple of hooks on the other. He pulled the curtain shut and put the package on the small seat, undoing the twine and taking out the coat. The fabric was similar to velvet, and Tom couldn't see the practicality until he felt the material beneath. Ah yes, the ‘carbon polymer’. The inner lining of the fabric, interestingly enough, was a dark, Slytherin green. Tom smiled, it seemed Steve, even without knowing him too well then, was quick to pick up certain things. Unfolding it, he could see the embroidery in the same dull gold thread as the borders around the edges.

Once he had changed into it Tom scrutinized the uniform. The pants and boots were like the others, though colored black. His coat, however, was the unique feature. It was double breasted, much like Bucky’s, with Victorian styled silver buttons with the trinity knot carved within them. The edges were folded back to show the green underside, which was stitched with silver thread. In fact, the ensemble reminded him of a Victorian frock coat, coattails and all, though the coat itself resembled the design of an official army off-duty uniform.

“You know that uniforms are supposed to be _practical_ , right Steve?” Tom called out.

“I thought it was better than your wizard robes! Besides, Howard put in some some weird stuff on the underside.” came Steve’s reply from the underside of the curtain.

Tom checked the underside of the coat again. There, in silver stitching, were runes. Arrays for impenetrability and swiftness, as well as an array for…cleanliness? It seemed that Howard took some of the runes for the Shield of Loki and used them for the uniform. Tom was impressed. Even so, he felt like Steve had taken what Tom had told him of the Wizarding World a little differently. Though the man did have the intelligence to widen the cuffs slightly so that Tom could hide his wand holster and armband on either side.

Jormungand, who had been awoken from his sleep after being jostled too many times, whined from the small provided seat. With a roll of his eyes, Tom lifted the snake to his shoulders again, and the small asp slithered into an opening in Tom’s collar. A hidden pocket for his snake? Perhaps Steve wasn't as impractical at designing this as he had thought.

“Come on, Tom! We wanna see what you look like!” shouted the voice of Bucky, with voices of agreement following afterwards.

With a sigh, Tom pushed away the curtain and stepped out, putting the stiff, official looking military hat with the Strategic Scientific Reserve insignia in the front on top of his head, straightening up as he did so. Whistles broke out among the group, along with a few chuckles.

“Well Tom, it looks like you'll need an ascot with that getup!” Dugan chuckled, slapping his knee.

“Steve, know that I'm not wearing this hat unless it's for a formal occasion.” Tom said blandly, turning to the costumed Captain, “However, I will admit you did a good job designing this.”

“He should be!” Bucky commented with a laugh, “Both of us were in art school before we joined!”

“Were you now?” Tom mused, head tilted to the side with a smirk, “The solider with the heart of an artist. How fascinating. So different from your film persona, Captain ‘Star Spangled Man With A Plan’.”

Steve snapped his head to Bucky so quickly that Tom was sure the poor man had whiplash.

“You showed him those films?!”

“What?” Bucky asked casually with a shrug, “He asked! You try denying him! He gives the same kicked puppy expression as you do!”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Flasworth cut in, his hands clasped together in front of him, “Shall we not dally, or we will all be late for our first meeting with Colonel Philips.”

The reminder seemed to get everyone into gear.

“Alright Howling Commandos, let's move out!” Steve ordered in his best ‘leader voice’, and everyone began to stand up and make their way to the meeting room, which was a couple hallways away.

Steve marched in front, with Tom and Bucky flanking him.

“I think the name for our team is a little silly.” Tom muttered lowly.

“What's wrong with it? Our job is to raid and destroy HYDRA bases, I'm pretty sure that's the definition of a Commando.” Steve answered back, though he was still looking forward.

“Oh, that's not the part I was talking about.” Tom replied smoothly, “But why say that we Howl? We aren't werewolves!”

“Well, I mean it's just a cool sounding name…” Bucky started before the rest of Tom’s words caught up with him, light grey eyes widening, “Wait. Werewolves _exist?!_ ”


	8. Howling Commandos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armed and ready, Captain America and his Howling Commandos march forth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to leave Kudos!

The meeting had gone well. The Howling Commandos were briefed on their mission and their first destination. Steve had explained to them that they were to start in Greece, and attack HYDRA bases in a clockwise manner. It would hopefully help so by the time they reached Nurmengard they would have already become a formidable, synchronized team. Once Captain America and the Howling Commandos were dismissed, Tom was taken aside by none other than Agent Carter.

“Congratulations on joining the team,” she began, “but unfortunately you will need some…extra lessons before you can go out in the field. As such, you will be having crash courses on firearm use and physical combat. Come with me.”

She had ended up taking him to a room where there were all sorts of muggle weapons on stands and pegs, with sectioned off areas opposite. Targets made of paper hung from strings and pulleys, many already littered with holes. Some of these paper targets had the silhouette of a human being. Agent Carter picked up a small handheld firearm and showed it to him, detailing certain parts and their uses in a short and concise manner. She then walked up to the barrier separating them and the targets.

“I've heard you have decent aim with a stick. This shouldn’t be too hard for you then.” she quipped, before aiming the gun at the target and firing six shots, almost all of them hitting the center point.

After reloading, she handed the gun to Tom, who took it with cautious hands. Aiming it at the paper target, he let loose six bullets, just like she did. It was close to the center, but nowhere near perfect. Next to him, Agent Carter sighed.

“Good enough for now, you will at least be able to incapacitate someone with that kind of aim. We’ll move along for now and hope that you learn better on the job.”

With that, she snapped up the firearm from his hands and put it back in its proper place. Heels clicked on the concrete floor as she led him to what looked like a training room of sorts. There, she shucked off her heels and faced him, unsubtly cracking her knuckles.

“Now for the fun part. Physical combat, something you will undoubtedly use throughout your missions. Let’s get started, shall we?”

Tom knew he wasn't a highly trained soldier, but living in both the orphanage and Hogwarts gave someone a certain amount of gymnastics and fighting experience, as well as quick reactions. This did not, however, stop Agent Carter from slamming him into the ground in three seconds flat. A dull pain shot through him, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the torture from HYDRA. He got back up as quickly as he possibly could, and stared her down with determined blue eyes. Agent Carter stared back at him with mild respect and clear determination. They circled around each other again, before Agent Carter lashed out quickly, giving Tom only seconds to block her attack before attempting to land one in her. He was on the ground in ten seconds this time, a small difference from the previous bout. As Tom stood up once more, he gave Agent Carter a fierce glare, bent on proving to her that he could do this. Even if it was going to be hell doing so.

She lashed out at him like lightning.

* * *

Bucky and Steve were the first to notice Tom when he all but stumbled into the room with a couple bruises littering his pale skin. They immediately stood up with alarmed and worried looks on their faces.

“What the hell happened to you?!” shouted Bucky, rushing over to Tom’s slumped form.

Their faces turned to confusion when Tom began to laugh, rubbing at his bruises as he did so. This caused the rest of the Howling Commandoes to stare at the three with mystified expressions, George slithering from Dernier’s neck to hiss in question.

“I got my arse handed to me by your girlfriend.” Tom groaned out after his chuckles abated, looking to Steve, whose blue eyes widened in alarm.

“Peggy did this to you? Why?”

“Physical training practice.” came the voice of Peggy, who walked into the room completely unharmed, “He should be able to hold his own on the battlefield he he somehow finds himself unarmed.”

Bucky stared incredulously at Peggy, before checking over Tom, whose bruises were rapidly starting to fade. So he could heal himself faster than normal huh? That would explain how he could come out of HYDRA torture with nothing to show of it. Back at the facility he had told Bucky what HYDRA had done, but the guy had no scars, nor any difficultly in moving that marked one’s limbs being broken multiple times. Guess that would be pretty handy when they were out destroying HYDRA bases.

Great, now he had two idiots that wouldn't back away from a fight to take care of. One somehow became an Adonis super soldier and the other was a British orphan with magic powers that could level an entire army with a flick of a stick, and yet for some reason both of them had those damn blue eyes that screamed ‘I'm a lost boy that needs someone to protect me’ every time they looked at him. So Bucky will have to take it upon himself to be the big brother and guide them, because he was pretty sure that without him, Steve would have been beaten to a pulp in some alley back in Brooklyn and Tom… Tom might have been the monster that other British soldier (Stubbs?) had claimed he was.

But now they could count on him to have their back. Tom walked up and took a seat next to him, still groaning slightly. Guess he was still a little sore from the pummeling he took from a Miss Peggy Carter, though otherwise he seemed alright, taking George from Dernier’s shoulder and having a short conversation with the tiny and dangerous snake. It was actually a cute picture, having the usually bored or stoic looking teen hiss at the tiny asp and stroke the head as if it was a cat. Considering that Tom seemed to only smile in the presence of so few people, it was nice to see the kid act his age once in a while.

It was sometimes hard to remember that Tom was just a kid. A sixteen year old genius wizard, yes, but a kid all the same. To be honest, Bucky only realized his age when that bearded man in the weirdly colored clothes (Dumb-something) arrived, talking to Tom like the school kid he was. And then the discussion of him skipping his last year of school to fight…Bucky sometimes wondered if it was such a good idea, bringing him into this. Weren't there older wizards willing to fight against bad wizards, or was Tom right and they cared more about keeping their existence a secret?

“Bucky?” came the tentative voice of Tom.

Bucky snapped his head to see both Tom and Steve staring at him with those blue eyes of theirs. Steve always had those deep blue eyes with a hint of green, a mark of his Irish heritage, while Tom had the same shifting shade as the blue beams of energy HYDRA carried. Both, unfortunately, held puppy dog expressions of worry, not that either of them realized. He gave them a smile.

“Sorry, was thinking about all the trouble I gotta keep you two out of.”

This made Steve snort and Tom roll his eyes.

“I had asked whether or not you were ready for our first mission. We are leaving for Greece tomorrow.” Tom asked, eliciting to either ignore his comment or store it away as ammunition for later.

The kid was slippery, he'll give him that. His mind seemed to always be ticking behind his eyes, figuring things out and applying himself accordingly. Unlike Steve’s eyes that were clearer than glass, unlike Steve who wore his heart on his sleeve, Tom kept his thoughts to himself, only giving glimpses of his soul by the way of questions and strange, offhanded comments. And Bucky wasn't stupid, he could read between the lines. Little things he should have known (but didn't) just because he mostly resided in the Victorian era magical world and because he lived in an orphanage for most of his childhood, became prominent through his words.

It was both depressing and hilarious to see Tom not get any of the references that Howard spouted out.

“Ready as I'll ever be to kick Fritzie’s butt.” Bucky replied with a smile, watching as Steve and Tom appeared outwardly relieved while their minds showed signs of ticking below the surface.

Great, so Tom was another worrier. Like Steve wasn't enough. Their eyes bored into him, seeing through him and the words unsaid. Such insightful people, his brothers in arms. They weren't so different, really, like stray puppies he had somehow picked up that ended up being weirdly overprotective guard dogs. He tried to suppress a laugh as his mind supplied the image of the two of them as dogs, growling at some HYDRA agents, Steve as a dopey golden retriever in a doggy version of his Captain America suit and Tom as a chihuahua shaking in tiny rage with a wizard hat and robes.

Steve and Tom looked at him strangely as he began to laugh out loud, clutching his side with one arm and banging on the table with the other fist. Their bewildered faces only made him laugh harder.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Flying in a muggle airplane turned out to be quite the experience.The roar of the engine was so loud Tom was sure his ears might have have exploded before they finally reached a height where the noise wasn't as painful. Tom had his hands pressed to his ears until the rumbling had subsided, glad that they were high enough to where that infernal noise had ceased. This unfortunately meant that the plane was also high enough to be assaulted by the wind, causing the contraption to jostle and shake. How did one even stay in one of these things without going mad? Muggles were bloody insane!

“Never done this before, have you Tom?” Bucky chuckled as he watched Tom’s discomfort.

“Please note that wizards tend to fly using broomsticks, and magic carpets in some other countries.” the teenage wizard muttered back, his pale face tinged slightly green as he twirled his yew wand in his hand.

“You magic people are crazy.” Jones stated with a shake of his head, though his smile did not disappear.

“And here I thought witches were the only one to use a broomstick.” Dum Dum grunted out as a half jab towards Tom, who shook his head.

“No, both witches and wizards ride on broomsticks. You do realize the only difference between a witch and a wizard is their gender, right?”

The men in the plane all snorted in laughter and Tom once again shook his head in exasperation. Why did they find the notions of magical customs so humorous? It did not make much sense. Perhaps they think the Wizarding population to be backwards, much like how the magical community viewed muggles as such. In truth, which was more backwards and outdated? How much progress had been stunted due to their divide?

“So how do you ride a broom?” Morita asked in curiosity, fiddling with his dog tags with a wide, cheeky smile, “Do you ride it sideways like those pinup girls-” hacking coughs and laughter made themselves present at the very thought of Tom sitting on a broomstick sideways, his knees crossed in a dainty manner, “or do you straddle it like a bike?”

“Like a bike, _obviously_.” Tom deadpanned, “How else is one to properly control a broom without falling off?”

“Wouldn't that…hurt?” Dernier wheezed as the very thought of sitting on a broom like that seemed to disturb him.

“Cushioning charms.” was the matter-of-fact reply, a smirk donning his lips.

Groans escaped from the men, the sound melding with the rumble of the plane. A chuckle, however, rang out from beneath it, from a voice belonging to Steve. He was attempting to get his mask on as he did so, which meant that Falsworth was going to be landing the plane soon. Tom slid his wand back into its holster under his sleeve, his eyes darting worriedly as the plane began to descend with its clunking noise. He wondered if it would have been better to simply ride his broom here, but decided that the trip would have been long and lonely if he had. A plane, after all, was still faster than his Moontrimmer.

The plane continued to descend, hiding just before enemy lines behind the many trees that occupied the area. Jormungand hissed in disapproval, not liking the sudden change in altitude and only now making his displeasure known. Tom quickly hissed soothing words to placate the now jittery snake as Steve went to the back of the plane, ready to unhook his motorcycle. The asp slowly retreated back into the hidden pouch in Tom’s collar, just in time for the plane to land, jostling everyone inside. As soon as the plane stopped moving, the other Howling Commandos sprang into action, grabbing their guns, ammunition, and other various weapons of choice, already crowding at the exit with excited gleams in their eyes.

Falsworth, being the pilot, was the last to grab his weapons but slammed his fist on the button that opened the hatch once he did so. The revving of a motorbike told Tom that Steve was ready for action, and fluidly pulled out his Moontrimmer from the mokeskin pouch he still wore. He smirked at the widened eyes that regarded his broomstick, which was a rather old thing, though still in good condition. Fluidly he straddled the broom, taking off and flying out of the plane, turning to hover above the men and their gaping mouths.

“Alright, Sergeant Riddle.” Steve called out to him in his leader voice, “You scout the area and report back in five.”

“Roger that, Captain!” Tom replied with a salute, smirking as Steve rolled his eyes at the pun.

With that done, Tom cast a Disillusionment charm over himself and his broom. Now invisible, he soared above the trees, finally feeling the wind through his hair and the freedom of flight. There, in the valley a few miles behind the trees, were what appeared the be warehouses littered with HYDRA agents and vehicles. It was not nearly as heavily guarded as the facility in Austria, but enough to perhaps give them a bit of a challenge.

Discreetly he cast a magic revealing spell, which only picked up the energy within the HYDRA weapons. No humans with a magical signature though, which was good for the Howling Commandos. With this information Tom quickly flew back and landed in front of his Captain, dispelling his disillusionment charm. With a stiff salute that he had seen the other men do, he reported his findings to Steve, earning a brief smile and a nod.

Steve immediately went back into his leader state, shoving his rifle into the scabbard strapped to his motorbike, sliding his pistol into its holster, and strapping his shield onto his back. This was the signal to the others, who mounted their own motorcycles.

They rode together in a V formation, the Captain taking the lead as the others fanned out, Tom flying above in what would be the V’s center. What a sight they must have been! A costumed super soldier leading his men into battle, with a wizard on a broomstick flying above. It seemed to unnerve the HYDRA agents on patrol, and the soldiers of the Red Skull were quickly overrun by bullets and spellfire.

Soon enough they reached the warehouses and the Howling Commandos dismounted their motorcycles. With a powerful kick Captain America knocked open the large doors of the center warehouse and they all immediately opened fire inside. HYDRA agents scattered and fell as the team fanned out, destroying the work that HYDRA had been doing inside.

It turned into a full scale brawl after more HYDRA soldiers flooded in from the woodwork, and Tom found that the close combat skills along with the Shield of Loki proved to be incredibly useful as close quarters. These were not wizards he was fighting, simply muggles with magic based ammunition. There was little use blocking and firing spells when there was more danger in getting his wand snapped than anything else. So Tom dodged, ducked, and attacked with his shield, the spinning rim slicing through HYDRA armor and deflecting their blue beams of destructive light.

Out of the corner of his eye Tom saw that a HYDRA agent was sneaking up behind Bucky, with the American soldier unsuspecting. With barely a second to think the teenage wizard threw his shield at the black clad enemy, his aim true as the Shield of Loki knocked him out and bounced back to him like a boomerang. Bucky’s head jerked to look at Tom, the soldier giving him a thumbs up before returning to fight the onslaught of HYDRA agents.

Steve was knocking out HYDRA soldiers left and right, whether it was by fist, foot, or shield. Tom watched in awe at the effects of the serum, something so muggle and yet had transformed Steve Rogers into a fighting champion that has never been seen before. It was as if the man had the strength of a Giant, the dexterity and speed of a Vampire, and the durability of a Dragon. He didn't seem to need any help at the moment, so Tom focused on the fight around him.

Gunfire and groans rang out from behind the hollow building, causing an adrenaline rush inside Tom. Each howl of pain from the enemy with each spell cast caused him to grin wider and wider, to the point where people looking upon him probably thought he was a sadistic maniac. A flash of green light soared true to its target, and the HYDRA agent shooting from the metal balcony fell like a puppet when its strings were cut, his body dead long before he ever hit the ground. Tom began to laugh, a loud and rather high pitched laugh at the battle around him. He felt so free, so alive, in this moment. It also seemed to unnerve the surrounding HYDRA agents.

Bright blue eyes that matched the flying beams of HYDRA almost sparkled with unhidden glee as Tom sent out barrage of spells at the enemy soldiers farther out while slamming his shield onto the bodies of the ones closer to him. Each HYDRA member he cut down caused his next move to be more vicious, as if he were testing the boundaries of his own morality.

It was only when Dernier shouted above the ruckus that Tom was pulled into the goal of their mission once more, watching as the Frenchman tossed Steve a pack of explosives in a bag. Apparently the man had already planted quite a few explosives around the building during the brawl, and time was ticking. Steve caught the explosives in one hand as he fetched his motorcycle, which was sitting just outside the warehouse doors.

Dum Dum bellowed something about getting out of the building, and Tom didn't need to be told twice as he joined his fellow Commandos in sprinting out of the warehouse, with Falsworth providing cover fire as they did so. Each of them had matching wild grins on their faces, only looking back when they reached their respective rides.

The explosives Dernier had previously set went off inside the building, encasing the inside with flames that billowed out. Out from one of the top windows came Steve, his motorcycle revving as he practically rode the explosion. The charges set by him seemed to immediately set off, bringing down the entire building in the most spectacular display of muggle pyrotechnics that Tom had ever seen. The blaze erupted from above, below, and everywhere in between, reducing the once strong base into a pile of scrap metal. It was not hard to envision the seething rage that Schmidt would feel after he had discovered the smoldering corpse of his Greek base.

With their mission now complete, Captain America and his Howling Commandos rode off back to their airplane, whooping as they did so. Their first mission was a complete success, and it felt amazing. It was at that moment, flying above and alongside his teammates, that Tom realized that he was right where he belonged.

* * *

Through flames and snow they marched, through forests and mountainous terrain they crossed. Each mission generated more challenges to overcome, and it was in these heated battles that the Howling Commandos truly showed their synergy and synchronization.

Even the added magic from Grindelwald's followers couldn't stop them, though they had tried. Steve’s Vibranium Shield and Tom’s Shield of Loki blocked the spells fired by the enemy wizards, and they all attacked back as one. Not even wizards could stop unexpected explosions or well aimed gunfire. HYDRA may have had the support of Grindelwald, but it could not be denied that Tom was a reckoning force as the only Magical actively fighting frontline on the Allied side.

As they neared the fated day that they would have to storm Nurmengard, the Howling Commandos were swarmed with more wizards with each closer base. It soon became obvious to everyone that this was as much of a magical war as it was a muggle one, and the Wizarding World watched as a lone wizard, barely a man, faced the might of Grindelwald's army with only a small team of muggles to help him.

On the muggle side of things, the world watched as Captain America and his Howling Commandos stormed Nazi (and HYDRA) forces in Normandy, and helped the soldiers push back the enemy forces. The papers of both the magical and mundane told the story of the men whose bravery and teamwork were unmatched in the face of evil, and the very core of the Magical world was shaken as a wizard worked with muggles to stop a war that effected both worlds.

Currently, however, these men were actually back at The Leaky Pot once more, as enough time had passed from the fiasco with Grindelwald's followers for the Howling Commandos to return there. It gave Tom time to catch up on what was happening in the Wizarding World while also celebrating Captain America and his Howling Commandos’ success in their most recent mission.

Tom was reading the Daily Prophet, his eyes scanning the pages for the latest news. There was gossip and speculation about what Tom was doing as part of the Howling Commandos, as well as his affiliation with the muggles. The article listed the names of the known followers of Grindelwald that they had defeated or killed, before degrading into slander about whether or not this war was worth exposing their world to a large handful of muggles. Another article stated a list of missing persons, which ranged from purebloods to half bloods, with no explanation of why and no pattern other than the fact that they were from rather old families. The largest article was still the death and damage toll that was caused by Grindelwald and his followers. It was still painfully high, though many of them were muggles and in other parts of the continent. Still, it made Tom feel a little better knowing that he was doing his part to stop the mad Dark Lord.

Leach was back behind the bar and listening intently to Jones retell the story of their missions, his eyes wide and sparkling with wonder. Tom half listened as Jones told how Steve had thrown his shield at a sniper hidden in the winter trees and knocked him out cold, how Dernier rolled underneath a heavy tank to plant a powerful explosive underneath, and how Steve had thrown a pack of explosives into the open hatch of another heavy tank. Some of the other men joined in on the storytelling, adding in their own details and perspectives to the narrative.

The sight of Captain America alone in the pub was attracting more muggle customers than usual, which had forced Tom to cast privacy charms as soon as there was a break in the waves. A look to Steve’s direction told Tom he had done the right thing, as the poor man had relief written all over his face at the relative quiet. Finished with his reading, the teenage wizard folded up the Daily Prophet and placed it back on the counter, turning to face the taller soldier, who was seated next to him on his left.

“Thanks, Tom.” Steve sighed out.

“Think nothing of it.” Tom replied, nursing his second tankard of Butterbeer, “Besides, it was getting far too crowded for my tastes.”

“Yeah I think I've had enough people swarming me since my USO tours.” the super soldier said with a laugh.

“Fame comes at a cost, it seems.” Tom intoned, nodding sagely, “Only time will tell if the Wizarding Community will love me or hate me.”

“Why would they hate you?” interrupted Bucky from Tom’s right side, “You're the only wizard guy fighting this Dark Lord! Wouldn't that make you a hero?”

“My methods, as you may have noticed, are unorthodox even amongst wizards.” Tom explained, “This includes working with muggles, which many look down upon, and my use of dark magic. The only reason why I'm not thrown into Azkaban, which is the Wizarding prison, is because Professor Dumbledore managed to convince both the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederacy of Wizards that desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“That's why you could bypass the…Statute of Secrecy?” Steve tried, and continued at Tom’s nod of affirmation, “But even though you're good in the eyes of the law, the people can still hate you for working with us and using dark magic?”

“Correct. The Wizarding World is rife with old traditions and taboos. It's very easy to get sucked into it, especially when you're an isolated society that practically bans contact with muggles, though I've heard that MACUSA has stricter laws.”

“Woah woah woah new word.” Bucky said with a confused face, “What's a Macusa?”

“It's the American version of our Ministry of Magic. The Magical Congress of the United States of America. They have far harsher laws against the fraternization between wizards and muggles.” Tom elaborated, his words catching the ears of Leach, who was refilling Bucky’s glass of firewhisky.

“What you're talking about is Rappaport’s Law.” Leach explained, proud of his knowledge on the subject, “Put in because of America’s Salem Witch Trials, the law states that you can't do magic in front of, marry, or even befriend muggles. You're not allowed to interact with any non-Magicals unless it's strictly necessary. Ilvermorny doesn't even let their students take their wands outside of school until they graduate, and the muggle American government doesn't even know we wizards exist. MACUSA is a completely independent body from it. Usually if the ‘damage’ of breaking the law is ‘unfixable’, then the penalty is death.”

After Leach’s rather enlightening speech, the two men sitting on either side of Tom stared at the bartender in horror. Their heads then turned to look at Tom, and it seemed only now did they realize the gravity of what Tom had done in the face of the Wizarding World. What he sacrificed to fight by their side. Yes, he had alienated himself from the majority of wizardkind, the one world that was home to him, with his actions. Yes, he had willingly burned the bridges of his past ‘friends’, the pureblood elite who had followed him around like lost sheep back when he was at school and would probably now happily crush him into dust for his befriending and fraternization with people like Steve and Bucky, but he wasn't upset over it.

“Oh don't worry about me.” Tom said with a smile, “I know what I've done, and I do not regret it. Never in my life have I ever felt like I truly belonged until now. I have you to thank for that.”

It seemed to lighten the darkening mood, at least.

“Aw, Tom, don't get cheesy on us!” Bucky laughed out, messing up Tom’s hair, “We’re here with you ‘till the end of the line!”

“And you said I have a heart of an artist, does that mean you have the soul of a poet?” Steve teased as he drank from his own glass filled with Butterbeer.

For some reason both Bucky and Steve had taken rather quickly to magical alcohol, with Bucky preferring Firewhiskey and Steve loving Butterbeer at first sight. Tom wondered if it was such a good idea to get them hooked on such things, as they would be unable to procure it once they got back to America. Though perhaps they were just enjoying the drinks while they could, knowing it wasn't going to last. Leach filled Steve’s glass with more Butterbeer before leaning over to them.

“So where are you guys planning on going next?” the bartender asked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Now, now. We cannot simply tell you where we’re going. What if the enemy hears of our plans?” Tom asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh come on! The other blokes just spent that last hour telling of the places you already hit! And besides, you know I'm the last kind of guy to go snitching to sods like Grindelwald or his lackies!” Leach needled with a large smile, knowing that if Tom didn't tell him, one of the other two soldiers will.

“Well, that's good to hear!” chuckled out Bucky, “Because ol’ Grindy might not like where we're going next. Might take us a while to prepare though.”

At Leach’s confused look, Steve decided to elaborate.

“We're going to storm Nurmengard.”


	9. Technomancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Titanic was once considered unsinkable. Never assume that your fortress is impenetrable. 
> 
> Or, in times of war, Birthdays are very important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to leave Kudos!

It was going to take longer than usual to plan for the attack on Nurmengard, as it would be different to any raid they ever did before. Unlike HYDRA bases, Nurmengard was guarded by not only wizards but wards as well. You couldn't just walk up and open fire, as you'd be fried as soon as you stepped into range of the copious and downright lethal wards that were undoubtedly set up around the magical fortress. This was why it was Tom’s job to collaborate with Howard in order to create a device that would break the runic arrays and warding lattice, as well as create magic resistant armor for the other Commandos.

The raid, primarily, was to discover why Nurmengard was even listed as a HYDRA base. Even though Schmidt and Grindelwald appeared to work together, it was glaringly obvious that Schmidt did not trust the Dark Lord, nor would Grindelwald ever even think about looking at muggles as equals. This meant that Nurmengard was holding something important to both parties behind its walls. Perhaps something of a powerful magical nature that could only be contained (or so HYDRA is convinced) by wizards. This made this particular mission the most dangerous one yet, hence the extra planning and development.

Tom was currently drawing some complex runic arrays in his diary, the same one that still held a piece of his own soul. The soul shard would temporarily power the runes if need be, though Tom knew it wasn't going to be forever. He needed to get the horcrux out.

The past year had been the best in his life, one filled with excitement and camaraderie. But even that could not take away the fact that they were in times of war, that they were soldiers who could die at any point on the field. Muggles didn't even live as long as wizards did, and he knew that neither Steve, nor Bucky, nor any of his friends would choose the path of immortality. They've already chosen the path that could even lead to a shorter lifespan, and that revelation left a very odd hole in his chest.

There was once a time when all Tom could think of was finding a way to cheat death, but what good is immortality if all you can do is watch as your friends rot away? His fear of death had somehow transformed into a fear of living while his friends died. The horcrux, at one point a desperate attempt to prolong his longevity, had turned into what was potentially his worst nightmare.

It was, of course, _possible_ to call back a horcrux through complete and full remorse of its creation. Unfortunately for Tom, he didn't quite feel much remorse for the death of Myrtle the Whiner of Ravenclaw, though he did feel bad for expelling the half giant boy. He _had_ spread some rather nasty rumors about the third year Gryffindor raising werewolf cubs and wrestling trolls. True, the boy had somehow acquired an Acromantula of all things, but compared to Tom’s use of the Basilisk to hunt muggleborns the slightly larger than usual spider posed no harm, just a convenient scapegoat.

Perhaps when this war was over, he should go make amends with the boy. He had to be what now, fifteen? If Tom remembered correctly, the boy was expelled and had his wand snapped. He would have to ask Dumbledore of his whereabouts, and perhaps that would ease the slight guilt he felt about that incident. Tom had changed from the boy he was back then.

“What’re you drawing?” asked a voice from behind, causing Tom to almost jump out of his seat.

“ _Merlin_ , Howard, a little more warning would have been nice!” Tom yelped out, his head snapping to the amused inventor.

“Aaaah. Magic stuff then. You only say Merlin when you’re thinking about magic stuff. So what is it?” Howard powered on with a smirk, rubbing his hands together as he leaned over to inspect Tom’s work on the diary.

“I suppose you could call it an Imprisonment Array for Magicals.” Tom sighed, his eyes looking over it for any mistakes, “Theoretically, you put the wizard or other magical creature into an enclosed space, draw this rune or have it already drawn, and it should use the prisoner’s own magic to keep them imprisoned.”

“So it’s a Wizard Trap.” Howard surmised.

“Precisely.” Tom said with a nod.

“Looks pretty hard to draw though, is there a way to simplify it?” the inventor asked, his finger tapping the side of the page.

“At this point in time I don't know if the original one works.” the teenage wizard sighed out, shaking his head.

Howard chuckled at Tom’s disparaging tone, patting Tom on the shoulder as he straightened back up. Tom groaned in frustration and shut the diary, deciding to dwell on his own sins at a later date. He placed the diary back in the mokeskin pouch that never left his side before stretching out the stiffness from sitting down for such a long time.

“You really need to take a break or something.” Howard said, his jovial tone masking his seriousness, “You’re a growing sixteen year old kid, you gotta at least eat, even if you are a genius like me.”

“Seventeen.” Tom intoned, closing his sore eyes for a couple of seconds and missing the look of confusion on the inventor’s face.

“No, no you said you were sixteen when you joined the rag tag bunch of cowboys, you can't go changing the facts.” Howard said with a frown.

“I was sixteen when I joined. I'm seventeen now.” Tom stated, turning to look at his scientist friend.

“What, you mean like today? Is it you're birthday today?” Howard nearly stuttered out in surprise, “Why didn't you tell me? And you've been working all d-“

“Today is not my birthday.” Tom cut in, “I've been seventeen for quite a while now.”

“How long is ‘quite a while’?” Howard sputtered.

“Oh…eight months, I believe.” he answered flippantly, turning to walk out the door before he felt a hand clamp down on in shoulders, “It really isn't that big of a deal, Howard. It's just a birthday.”

“You're almost eighteen and we missed your seventeenth birthday! You're almost a man, Tom! We need to know these things!”

Tom sighed. This was something he never liked getting into. He knew that most people celebrated birthdays with joy and company, but such was never so for the social outcast that was Tom, who would mostly be left alone as they celebrated New Years instead. His last birthday was no different, as he celebrated the coming of 1944 with Howard, Peggy, and the Howling Commandos, along with privately celebrating his coming into adulthood in the eyes of the Wizarding World. He was fine with that, and while he celebrated the birthdays of his fellow teammates, Tom never felt the need to do so for his own.

“It's not important, Howard.” Tom stressed to the worrying scientist, “If you really feel that strongly about the subject, I will let you know the day I turn eighteen.”

“No!” Howard sputtered, heading towards the door, “No no no no no that's not how this works! We need time to prepare and clear our schedules and get gifts-”

“Nonsense.” Tom cut in with a shake of his head, “Don't waste your time-”

“Too late!” Howard shouted excitedly before going out of the door, “Hey fellas! You won't _believe_ what Tom just told me…”

His voice trailed off into the distance, and Tom was left with another odd feeling in his chest, one that it seems only these crazy Americans could force him to feel. With a sigh, he tried to return his thoughts to the diary, knowing full well that he wasn't going to be able to get any work done once Howard brought Steve and Bucky into this. That lot was relentless in anything that they put their minds to.

For the past year, Steve, Bucky, and Howard had taken it upon themselves to break Tom out of what little shell he had left, forcing the young wizard to try and recuperate the loss of his perceived dignity. He didn't know why Americans always put so much emphasis on hugs and smiles and songs, though perhaps thus was a muggle thing. Or, if Tom thought back to Dumbledore, simply a non-Slytherin thing. Whatever it was, they would not stop until he had no choice to consider them as some odd form of family.

Tom was about to sketch yet another sigil when Howard returned with two riled up soldiers, as if on cue to some cosmic play. Both Bucky and Steve looked stricken while Howard had that damnable smug look on his face. The wizard vowed to get revenge on the scientist at his earliest convenience as he held up his hands in mock defeat, a grimace plastered on his face.

“I know what you are going to say, so save it.” Tom sighed out, watching as the incensed expressions seemed to diminish somewhat, “But in my defense, I don't see why this is so important. We are in the middle of a war right now.”

“Exactly!” Bucky exclaimed, “We’re in the middle of a war! We have no idea whether or not we’re gonna die tomorrow, so we gotta make the most of what we got right now! You can't just tell us to wait, because there's a chance that we might not be able to!”

After Bucky’s emboldened speech, Tom sat there in his chair, the gears in his head turning as it tried to ignore the truth in the American’s words. Judging by the expressions of the other two men in the room, they shared Bucky’s sentiment. With a heavy, defeated sigh, Tom leaned back and rubbed his forehead in an attempt to stave off the headache that came with reasoning with (and losing to) these three men.

“Very well, what is it that you want me to do then?” came the groaning voice of the British wizard.

As if he had said the incantation to the Cheering charm instead, all three men immediately brightened by his caving. Howard pulled out a pad of paper along with a pen and began to jot something down. Bucky and Steve began to circle around the seated boy before heartily clamping a hand on each of his shoulders, looking for all the world like excited puppy dogs. Tom didn't let them know that he appreciated the effort they were putting in for _him_. It still left a wonderful feeling in his chest when he thought about it, but he wouldn't admit to himself that he was going soft.

He wondered, still, what had happened to the orphaned boy who vowed vengeance on all muggle-kind for their slights upon him.

“Well, first we need to plan your party,” Bucky said matter-of-factly, ticking off things with his fingers, “And then we need to get your actual birthday so we can plan an even bigger party for our little man.”

Ah, yes, he met these idiots that somehow turned him into a man that would gladly take a bullet or a curse to the chest in order to save them. How a single choice to Apparate into the woods of a postcard set such things in motion was daunting.

“The Thirty First of December.” Tom replied with a sigh, “I was born an hour before the New Year. Hence why I found no point celebrating it if we were to celebrate the more widely known anniversary instead.”

“Huh.” Steve said, running a hand through his hair, “That would explain why the files from the Orphanage only listed your birthday as Nineteen Twenty Six.”

“Yes, the nurses were drunk when I was born, as usual. I only found out my birth date when they were explaining to new caretakers how unnatural I was and how they had me pinned as a bad egg since I was born right before the New Years.” Tom explained with a roll of his eyes, ignoring the chuckles of his friends as he stood up from his seat, stretching a little after sitting for so long.

He had grown quite a lot in the past year, something many of his peers were both disgruntled and intrigued by, having gone from Howard’s height to staring straight into the eyes of his Captain. Steve had joked on whether or not Tom had taken some magical equivalent to his super soldier serum, of which the wizard vehemently denied. It was strange, even among wizards, to grow a good four inches under a year without a spell or potion. Perhaps one of the runes he carved gave this as a side effect?

It was something he put off researching, as the Anti-Magic grenades, armor, weapons, and traps had taken up the majority of his brainpower. If his growth did not cease by the time he passed Steve’s height, he would look into it.

“Well aren't you just a regular Oliver Twist.” Howard shot back with a cocky grin, pulling Tom’s mind back to the laboratory, “Are you going to ask me for more porridge now?”

The scientist was rewarded with a withering stare.

“Right!” Bucky then said, his hand clamping down on Tom’s boulder once more as he steered the teenage wizard towards the exit, “How about we take a break and see what the others have found out, eh?”

Grumbling half heartedly that he didn't quite have a choice in the matter, Tom walked down the halls with the three Americans to the meeting room designated specifically for Captain America and the Howling Commandos to use. Since not everything had to be reported to Colonel Philips immediately, most of the time the room was used as a semi break room for when they weren't allowed to leave the facility. Which has been happening more recently as the day they can obliterate HYDRA and Grindelwald completely draws nearer. With a sigh, the wizard opened the door to their destination.

…And stared flatly at the men standing in front of of him, all of whom had matching, smug grins on their faces.

It appeared that he had underestimated the Slytherin qualities that laid in his comrades, especially in Steve, who beamed at him as the wizard scrutinized the cake sitting on top of the meeting room table. They had been bloody _stalling_ him in the laboratory. Stalling him so that the other Howling Commandos could rush to the nearest bakery to get a cake for an impromptu belated celebration. Judging by the smirk on Peggy’s face as well, she had aided them in some way as well. On Peggy’s shoulder was Jormungand, who was muttering about the strangeness of his Speaker’s friends.

A scowl crossed his face while something warm stirred in his chest. He was led to the head of the table, where Captain America usually sat, and rolled his eyes. Sometimes his friends were simply ridiculous, he commented to himself as he watched with a quirked eyebrow as Dernier lit the candles on the cake with a lighter, while the other men flinched slightly as if the cake would suddenly explode.

Unbidden, a smile wormed its way onto his face as the group began to sing. Their singing was positively abysmal, with many voices and accents melting together into to form the monstrosity that was his birthday song. A chuckle burst from his throat at the ridiculousness of it all as they urged him to blow out the candles, of which were procured by unknown means, before cheering when he did so.

As he watched them cheer, Tom decided that this truly was the place where he belonged.

* * *

Tom and Howard stared at the devices in pride, marveling at their work, finished at last. The Technomancy line of gear was the birthchild of both Muggle and Magical research, with runes, enchantments, and electrical work meshing together almost seamlessly to create what Tom was certain was the beginning of a new era of technology.

By far their greatest breakthrough was the use of electricity in order to affect and detect magic, instead of the other way around, by creating a magnetic field that could then be directed to do a multitude of things. This would include breaking ward lattices in the form of magically disruptive grenades, and even form a protective shield similar to a Protego that could be activated at the press of a button. The gear was already fitted onto the uniforms, including Tom’s own. When paired with his non-electrically invasive runework, the gear would be able to withstand not only magical attacks, but physical ones as well.

“Wow,” muttered Bucky, inspecting the new rounds of ammunition that he was to carry in his sniper rifle, “You guys really outdid yourselves...”

“Your weapons contain runes for unbreakability.” Tom stated, addressing his Captain and the other Commandos, “Your uniforms have been fitted with Technomagical shields, and if you ever find yourself in the midst of a battle, I suggest you activate it. The Shield will last five minutes before they have to recharge on ambient magic, which will be approximately thirty seconds in the magically concentrated area of Nurmengard.”  
At Tom’s words, most of the Howling Commandos began to activate the shields, gaping in awe as a large circle of light burst from from the device built into their left forearms. The young wizard noted that the shields were a glowing blue, the same shade as the solid magic shard that Steve brought back from the Austrian base so long ago.

“Your ammunition has been modified to pierce through magical shields.” Howard added, holding up a pistol, “Which is why you guys still have bulletproof vests. These rounds are unstable once they’ve been shot, and will explode upon contact, so I suggest you avoid any friendly fire.”

The men all began to gather the ammunition before holstering their weapons. Peggy looked at the gear appraisingly, and gave Tom a nod of approval. She would also be joining them to Nurmengard, as this mission required both cunning and strength to be successful. Howard, too, would be coming along, but he would be observing from afar.

“ _You should also come out, my friend. I don’t want you to get hurt during this next mission_.” Tom hissed under his breath.

Jormungand, who had been sleeping in the hidden pouch of Tom’s collar, slithered onto the wizard’s shoulders before winding down his left arm. The asp stayed still as the teen wizard tugged a black metallic mesh over his scales, a second set of protection for his most recent serpentine familiar. Once he was finished, Tom listened to the snake complain about the strange feel of the little metal coat with a hint of a smile before placing Jormungand back atop his shoulders.

Tom looked around the room where his comrades were getting ready for what was possibly their biggest battle yet. It wasn’t just the defeat of the enemy that was on the line, but this would be one of the first times that muggles and magical would be awaiting the battle with bated breath, and the outcome of it might change the way the Magical World viewed muggles, for good or for bad. Who else would be brave (or stupid) enough to storm Nurmengard, a place that not even the most hardened Auror would march against? And with Tom at their side, it could be said that the two worlds could live side by side as equals. Winning the battle would crush the stigma that muggles were weak and ignorant, and would be detrimental to Grindelwald’s campaign.

He looked at his Captain, at his fellow Commandos, at Peggy and at Howard, and knew that the world was truly about to change.

* * *

Nurmengard stood on top of a cliff side, its entrance staring at the ocean. It’s dark, towering presence would remind any wizards nearby of the Azkaban prison, and the cold from the unforgiving ocean almost emulated the chill of the dementors. Grindelwald had built the structure as his main headquarters, and as a prison for any hapless wizard who got in his way. That is, any wizard that was still useful to his cause, for Grindelwald had no qualms with killing those he deemed too useless. According to the Daily Prophet, nobody knew which wizards were killed and which were merely imprisoned, as the fortress was nigh impenetrable.

The wards on Nurmengard were done by Grindelwald himself, and it was estimated that ten professional ward breakers would be required to break the wards in a month, if the ward breakers survived that long. Enemies would be killed by many of the Disillusioned guards crawling about the place, unseen and unheard until it was too late. Anyone flying on brooms to the entrance would either be fried by the wards or shot down by enemy spellfire, and daring wizards coming from behind would most likely share the same fate. It was well known in the Wizarding World that Nurmengard was an impossible fortress to down.

Until now.

Creeping through the woodland area, Captain America and his Howling Commandos made no sound, curtesy of the noise-cancelling charms placed on their feet. Agent Carter and Howard Stark followed close by, Peggy armed with a pistol and Howard with a Technomagical Grenade cannon. Howard then stopped just as the wards came into view, visible on his Magic Detector, which fired electrical pulses and simulated a kind of energy echolocation. He then began to set up camp with the rest of his technology crew, and gave a lazy salute as the others continued forward into dangerous territory.

The hum of the wards were getting closer and closer as they trekked on, Falsworth holding a smaller version of the Magic detector in his hands. Every member of the team was invisible to the detector, except for Tom, whose core was cast in a bright blue, denoting his magical nature. In the distance, a giant wall of translucent blue could be viewed on the screen, revealing the wards that weren’t visible to the naked eye. As they got closer to the ward line more blobs of blue, people with magical cores, could be seen patrolling the grounds behind the wall. The Captain raised his hand to stop the group, and motioned for them to take their places. He raised his hand held radio to his face and whispered the code words.

For a second, there was silence, as if even the sea felt the oncoming storm. From where Howard was encamped came several missile-like objects, all flying towards the wards. As they arched in the air, Tom could feel the palpable anticipation, the buildup of something that would shake the very foundation of the Wizarding World for years to come.

The Anti-Magic grenades hit the wards, and for a moment the resulting explosion blinded everyone, covering their ears from the resounding crack of something very large breaking. When the smoke cleared, Tom chanced a look at the site in front of him. The wards were completely destroyed, the grenades having destroyed one of their wardstones in the explosion. Not only that, but it seemed to have also disintegrated the enemy wizards’ Disillusionment charms, leaving them both shocked and horrified. With their path now paved and taking advantage of this lull in enemy attention, the Howling Commandos charged forward.

It was pandemonium. The sound of gunfire rang out amongst the roar of the ocean, hitting the armorless wizards with almost depressing ease. That was, until the wizards started to attack back. Shouts of surprise and horror began to ring out as the muggle members of the Commandos activated their shields, watching as the dark curses simply bounced off of discs of blue light. They would rotate which person activated their gear, so that a shield could always be up at any point in time. Steve and Tom, who had their own shields, marched forward and fired away at the enemy. With his shield in one hand and gun in the other, Tom looked for all the world as Muggle as the rest of his team. This was done to confuse Grindelwald’s army, who had no doubt heard that a wizard was aiding the Allied soldiers against them.

Like HYDRA, wizards bearing the sigil of the Deathly Hallows began to pour from Nurmengard, like wasps from their disturbed nest. Step by step Tom pressed forward, firing away at those he would have once supported wholeheartedly. Steve, who had a couple of wizards come up at close range, resorted to smashing the enemies with his shield, sending them flying. Tom, who had run out of bullets, began to do the same, noting in his mind how his strength seemed to match that of the Captain as he caved in a wizard’s face with his fist. Once he unholstered his wand and began to cast spells, the members of Grindelwald’s army began to focus more on him, allowing the Captain to enter Nurmengard first. In the meantime, Tom was subject to the verbal abuse coming from the wizards firing at him, chasing him into the fortress as well. Exclamations of “Mudblood!”, “Traitor!”, and “Muggle lover!” were shouted from all around him.

A high, cold laugh echoed inside the walls of Nurmengard as Tom attacked the wizards with violent abandon. He may not have graduated Hogwarts, but that didn’t mean he was uneducated in the art of dueling. Tom blocked and casted again and again, his skill and repertoire of dark magic aiding him in striking fear into the hearts of these wizards. The enemy wizards began to retreat, scuttling into the many corridors of the labyrinth-like structure of Nurmengard.

With the wizards gone, Tom took this as his chance to locate the other members of his team. Peggy and the rest of the Howling Commandos were just storming in, which meant that the enemies outside were either dead, injured, or had retreated back into the castle. He gave them a nod just as Steve returned from where he had gone inside the fortress.

“There’s a couple of cells off on the west side that appear to be occupied.” said Steve in his leader voice, “Jones, Falsworth, see if we can get them out. There might be more, but we’ll have to go deeper to see. Dernier, plant the explosives but don’t activate them until my signal. Dum Dum and Morita, watch the entrance and alert us if any reinforcements arrive. Bucky, Tom, Peggy, you guys are with me. Let’s see what Grindelwald is hiding in here. All clear?”

“All clear!” was the determined, unified reply before everyone split up to do their respective duties.

They encountered little resistance as they climbed the stairs up the jet-black fortress, shooting and blasting way the wizards that attacked them with vehemence. Stark’s Magic Detector showed them any occupied cells, but nothing of note came up on the screen that could indicate something powerful and world-changing. As he climbed higher alongside his comrades, Tom wondered where Gellert Grindelwald was. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to assume the man was in the midst of the HYDRA headquarters, perhaps trying to get his hands on whatever power source Schmidt possessed. This meant that, unfortunately, they would not be able to take what Grindelwald himself possessed, but the destruction of Nurmengard would signal the beginning of the end of Grindelwald’s reign.

The sound of gunfire and joyous cried reverberated from below them. Jones and Falsworth must have found and freed some of the prisoners kept in the lower levels. Assuming that the prisoners were kept in order of importance, those in the lower levels must have been in the most risk of being killed. Deducing from that, it was disturbing how many cells in the higher levels were empty. When they crossed the next level of stairs, however, the sound of shouting could be heard from one of the farther cells.

“Hello? Hello, is anyone there?” was the voice of a man, followed by the sound of hands banging against metal doors.

With a nod of affirmation from Steve, both Tom and Bucky went to investigate while their Captain and Agent Carter continued on up the stairs. With wand and shield Tom crept along the corridor with Bucky, getting closer and closer to where the prisoner was.

“This is Sergeant Riddle and Sergeant Barnes from the Strategic Scientific Reserve. We are here to rescue you.” Tom told the voice as he came closer to the door after noting that the prisoner sounded British.

Once at the door Tom raised his wand to destroy the lock, but was stopped by Bucky.

“Don’t worry, I got this!” the American soldier muttered to Tom, raising his gun up with a grin.

Tom nodded to his first friend and stepped back, allowing Bucky to blast off the lock. His lips twitched upwards in mirth as the muggle firearm destroyed what was probably a lock with powerful enchantments in a single blast. Bucky held the gun steady in one hand and wrenched the door open with another, revealing their prisoner, who had a puzzled expression on his face as he took in their uniforms and guns.

“Dear Merlin,” the man breathed, “You’re muggles! How on Earth did you...”

Tom’s eyes took in the sight of the now-freed wizard. Grey eyes stared at his rescuers in shock behind large round spectacles, some of it covered by long, unkept black hair. He had some ragged facial hair as well, indicating that this man had been imprisoned for quite some time. His pale skin stood out starkly from his black hair and the dark, tattered robes that he wore. It was difficult to judge how old the man was, but he was easily over thirty. He seemed oddly familiar.

“Actually,” Tom stated, showing his wand, “I’m a wizard. Sergeant Barnes here, however, is a muggle and so is the rest of the team. We’re here to destroy Nurmengard.”

“Destroy Nurmengard?” asked the wizard, before chuckling, “Well, as long as I’m not in here when you do it!” he joked, the joy of being free finally hitting him.

Tom watched as Bucky smiled at the man, and the two of them held out a hand to the sitting man. Just before the wizard could reach them, however, their radios crackled to life.

“Captain America to Howling Commandos,” came Steve’s voice, “Top floors have been checked and charges set. Evacuate the building immediately.”

With that order in mind, Tom and Bucky hoisted the man to a standing position, helping him exit the cell. The three of them made their way down the stairs of the fortress, Bucky armed with his rifle and Tom armed with his wand. After a few flights down the teenage wizard noticed that their most recent acquaintance was eyeing their weapons with trepidation, wringing his hands worry. Knowing what was going through the man’s mind, Tom internally sighed and unholstered Marvolo’s wand, handing it to the older wizard.

“Ah, thank you Sergeant!” he replied, taking the wand with obvious relief, “Mine is still at the Ministry. I was captured during a Potions conference.”

A Potions conference? What would Grindelwald want with a Potioneer? Tom eyed the man closely, taking in his features, before recognition dawned on him. He had met this man before, during one of Slughorn’s Slug Club parties.

“And you are?” asked Bucky, who had just now realized they didn’t know the man’s identity.

Smiling at his rescuer the Potioneer bobbed his head in half-bow, as a full one would have been difficult seeing as they were still quickly descending the stairs.

“Fleamont Potter. I’m a well-known Potioneer in the Wizarding World.”


	10. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What’s in a name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand now AO3 is caught up to where my stuff is on Fanfic. See ya next time! And I hope you like the story so far, and don’t forget to leave Kudos and Subscribe if you did!

Halfway down the last flight of steps, Steve and Peggy managed to catch up with Tom, Bucky, and Potter. A questioning glance from the two of them was aimed toward Tom in askance of their new acquaintance, to which the teen wizard gave a short nod. This wizard was indeed a friendly. The rest of the Howling Commandos were waiting at the base of the fortress, charges littering the walls. Several wizards and witches in various states of dishevelment were with them, some clutching their wands like a lifeline (which indicated that the inside of the cells had been heavily warded) and some who were nervously fidgeting their hands. None of them were attempting to go outside the building.

“What’s wrong?” asked Steve in his leader voice as soon as he stepped off the stairs, “We should be clearing out of here!”

“Would be hard to do that, Captain.” replied Dum Dum with a serious expression, nodding his head toward the entrance while keeping a tight grip on his weapon, “Have a look for yourself.”

With a little trepidation the returning group carefully peeked outside the entrance, and Tom felt his stomach drop. A massive army of soldiers, part wizard, part HYDRA, was standing right outside of the back of Nurmengard. They were all clad in black, sporting their Red Skull and Deathly Hallows symbols on their shoulders. Both sides stood apart from one another, a clear line running through the middle. Anyone foolish enough to think that running down the line would be torn to shreds within seconds. This army, however, did not surprise Tom, but a newcomer standing apart from them did.

Standing there, in front and center of his army, was Gellert Grindelwald himself.

“Magicless Filth!” called out the Dark Lord, “Your petty rescue mission ends here! How do you expect to win against the might of magic? Your kind has persecuted us for centuries, and now the world will realize how powerful we really are! To the blood traitor that brought mud into Nurmengard, have you no pride in your heritage? Have you no shame, fraternizing with filth?”

Tom was wondering when the dark lord was going to show up, what with this entire excursion being far too easy for his tastes. Seeing as nothing of note (other than the horde of hostages and lackeys) had been found inside the fortress itself, it can be almost an assured notion that whatever Grindelwald’s advantage was, it had to be on his person.

“Anti-apparition and Anti-portkey wards have been put up.” muttered Tom gravely, mouthing incantations under his breath, “We’re trapped here.”

“Is that Grindelwald?” whispered Bucky, and gained affirmation with a nod from not only Tom, but some of the other wizards listening in as well, “He’s crazier than I imagined him to be...”

Which led the question - what on Earth could Grindelwald have that was so powerful? And why kidnap all of these wizards? It didn’t make much sense, especially someone like Fleamont Potter, who wasn’t much of a political prisoner (though the Potter family was notorious in their pro-Muggle stance). A pulse of magic came from his armband, and his attention was drawn to the answer of his first query. Of _course_ , the Elder Wand of Antioch, fabled to be the most powerful magical focus ever created, given to the eldest Peverell brother (as the story goes) by Death himself.

“Bloody Hell!” breathed Potter, pushing his round glasses back into place nervously, “The man himself decided to show up! How in Merlin’s name are we supposed to fight through _that_?”

The hum of the Resurrection Stone pulsed from its place on his forearm, as if to sing of its imminent reunion with its brother. As to how that reunion would take place was a different story entirely. If Grindelwald were to get his hands on the Stone of Cadmus, he would be one Hallow away from being the Master of Death, a title Tom did not want to see on the manic Dark Lord. But what if Tom managed to take the wand himself? What would that do? A powerful magical artifact that was only equal to whatever object the Red Skull had in his possession was right there, only a few hundred yards away. If he could gain the power of the Elder Wand, he would be nigh unstoppable, the Allies would gain another advantage.

“Like we always do.” came the voice of Steve, snapping atom from his thoughts, “With help.”

The gathered wizards watched in awe and curiosity as Captain America held up a bulky black box of some kind, his radio, and pressed a button. The crackling voice of Howard came from it, the scientist’s cheerful tone masking his worry, something that didn’t leave Tom’s notice.

“Cap! There you are!” came the voice of Howard from the radio, and Tom watched as a few wizards gasped at such technology, “My sensors are picking up a lot of blue... and they’re all-”

“Outside the building.” finished Steve with a sigh, “I know. It looks like Grindelwald brought the party to us. The stragglers that went out the back must have alerted him to our raid, and brought along HYDRA with them. Got any of those Anti-Magic grenades left?”

At the words ‘Anti-Magic’, many of the freed hostages stepped back in fear, the notion of such a thing both foreign and frightening to them. Potter turned to Tom, his eyebrows raised in mild alarm. For a moment Tom pondered what he should say. Wizards and witches could be surprisingly closed minded and technophobic, but for some reason Potter struck as the exception to the rule. His family, after all, were generally ‘muggle friendly’. Making up his mind, the teenage wizard decided to tell the Potioneer the truth.

“The grenades produce a powerful electromagnetic field that disrupts the magical lattice of most spells and wards.” Tom explained in a quiet whisper to Potter, “It’s how we were able to destroy Nurmengard’s wards without a team of ward breakers.”

At the same time, Howard replied with:

“Nope. Used the only two we had to break the ward. You going to run and gun it, then?”

A collective sigh of apprehension came from the Commandos, knowing that the easy path was now closed to them. They would have to find another way to get past the army outside the fortress.

“That was the plan.” answered Steve, “At least, that’s as much of a plan we have now.”

Tom looked to their enemy standing there, waiting for those inside Nurmengard to show themselves. One step outside the fortress and they would be destroyed under spells and gunfire. It would be suicide to run and gun it without much else. But then again, were the two factions even on speaking terms, or had Schmidt lent Grindelwald some firepower as if to say that the Hark Lord couldn’t do it on his own? Suddenly it made sense why they were standing so stiffly. The presence of HYDRA was meant to convey that the Red Skull doubted Grindelwald’s power, and Grindelwald probably had plans in play to make sure the HYDRA soldiers wouldn’t land a single hit.

“Alright, Commandos.” said Steve in his leader voice, “We’ll need some sort of distraction in order to take the attention off of the hostages, and we’ll need some guys to escort these people around the enemy without them noticing.”

So then, it came down to fighting the army Grindelwald had amassed just for them. Since his name hadn’t been called out as the blood traitor, Tom could assume that Grindelwald had no idea who the wizard working as one of the Commandos actually was. Dumbledore had called for a vow of secrecy from the Ministry in order for Tom to continue his war efforts, all of the members of Grindelwald’s army that had attacked the Leaky Pub had been captured or killed, and the Daily Prophet had only referred to him as ‘a muggleborn wizard’ (which wasn’t true, he was a half-blood, but the Prophet was not know form researching facts), so a basic description of him was most likely the only thing the Dark Lord had to go on. In theory, Tom could walk past without getting shot...

“What in God’s green earth is going to distract a bunch of wizards without them breaking out into utter chaos?” asked Jones incredulously, “I don’t think regular grenades will work on these guys. They have shield spells at the ready and we only have so many of these magic bullets.”

He chanced a peek at the followers of Grindelwald, noting that most of them were young, closer to Tom’s age, and most likely cannon fodder. Blue eyes widened when he recognized a few of them. Both Dolohov and Lestrange were there, decked in black cloaks and standing with their wands out, the rune for the Deathly Hallows on their shoulder. They must have joined Grindelwald sometime after they graduated, lured in by the promise of power and a changed new world, which was what Tom himself was preaching before he up and apparated to Austria.

“We’ll have to find a way.” replied Morita, “Because without a plan, we’re going to die.”

The two ex-members of Tom’s little club wouldn’t know that he had defected. In fact, they hold probably vouch for his pureblood supremacy. If he could get out there with a ‘dummy traitor’, he might be able to buy enough time for the hostages to sneak around the army without getting caught. From this reasoning, Tom’s mind began to tick, forming a plan.

“Actually.” Tom piped up once he had a rough idea of how he was going to pull it off, “I think I’ve got something.”

At his words, everyone turned to stare at him in curiosity and derision. Steve, Peggy, and the rest of the Howling Commandos waited for his plan, knowing better than to disregard his ideas. With their permission, Tom outlined his plan.

“And you...” Tom continued, motioning to the witches and wizards, “Will cast disillusionment charms over yourselves and the rest of the team...”

“You want us to work with _muggles_?” one of the witches sneered, staring at Tom as if he were mad, “And why in Merlin’s name would we do _that?_ ”

There were a couple of eye rolls at her comment, but it seemed that many of the freed magicals agreed with her. It was then that Tom was reminded why no other wizard wanted to join the Allied forces - they were raised on the prejudice and ignorance of the Wizarding World, much like atom was before he was captured by HYDRA. Irritated, Dum Dum gave a wave.

“Hey! The muggles are standing right here you know! Don’t have to get all snooty ‘cause we don’t use sticks to wipe our asses.”

Tom had to suppress a snort at the redhead’s words, though the other members of the Howling Commandos gave a short laugh. Leave it to Dugan to speak his mind, of which Steve and the rest of the Commandos found great humor in. Even Potter tried and failed to suppress a chuckle, much to Tom’s surprise.

“Need I remind you that us muggles are your only chance of getting out of here.” said Falsworth in a no-nonsense tone, “And that if it weren’t fo us, you’d still be in prison cells.”

There was a collective grumble of agreement at his words, and soon the witches and wizards who still had wands (or were given on, in Potter’s case) began to cast the charms over the Howling Commandos and themselves, though Fleamont Potter stopped before he could cast it on himself.

“Is there something wrong, Potter?” Tom asked, watched out of the corner of his eye as Dernier shivered from the disillusionment charms before disappearing into thin air.

The bespectacled Potioneer shook his head and reached into his pocket (which, by how far down his arm was reaching, had an extension charm on it) and pulled out a silvery fabric of some sort. With a smile, Potter held up the fabric and wrapped it over himself, instantly vanishing from sight. A lone hand came into view only to hand Tom Morfin’s wand before disappearing once more.

“I’ve got an invisibility cloak.” came the disembodied voice of Potter, “It’s been passed down from father to son from even before the Potter family was formed. I always keep it on me, never know when you might need it.”

Tom stared for a few seconds at the empty space that Potter’s voice emanated from, nervously twirling the extra wand, his mind reeling. At that moment it made sense of why the Potioneer was considered the highest priority prisoner. Most invisibility cloaks only lasted a maximum of three years before the charms wear off, but for such an artifact to outlast generations...

Potter had the final Hallow, the Cloak of Ignotus.

After all the spellwork was done, the only two people still visible in the room were Tom and Bucky. A quick _Homenum Revelio_ told Tom that they were getting into position, and the teenage wizard handed the wand over to Bucky, who examined it in curiosity. The American soldier had borrowed a Wizarding cloak from one of the prisoners, which Tom thought looked rather comical on him.

“So, do I look wizardy now?” asked Bucky with a crooked smile, waving the wand around in what Tom assumed was suppose to be a mockery of what the American had seen him do, “I certainly don’t feel wizardy, just stupid.”

They had gone over the plan twice to make sure everyone knew what was happening. Bucky would pose as the muggleborn traitor, as he was the only one that closely matched Tom’s physical description. Tom would do as he did best, lie through his teeth as smoothly as possible, pretending to be an avid supporter of Grindelwald who was trying to prove his worth to the Dark Lord by holding the ‘traitor’ hostage. The two of them would try to draw the conversation out while the invisible soldiers and prisoners make their way around the army. If the plan went sour, all members were to protect the prisoners and gun down as many enemy soldiers as they could.

“Well,” Tom muttered under his breath, a crooked smirk on his face, “I suppose that says something about us wizards and our fashion then, hm? Are you sure you’re up for this?”

Bucky flashed him a wry smile, his right hand on the gun hidden beneath the cloak, the purpose of it was obvious and unsaid. He may not be able to use a wand, but a bullet at such a close range would take down quite a few wizards before they realize the man couldn’t actually cast a spell.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” was his reply, “Are you ready? This plan’s crazy no matter how you dice it, and you’re the one risking your neck again.”

The faces of Lestrange and Dolohov, their laughter ringing from the halls of Hogwarts as they and the rest of the Knights of Walpurgis followed ‘Lord Voldemort’ around like loyal dogs (or opportunist snakes) were imprinted in his mind. So much had changed in so little time, neither of these men, no, boys (as even now, it cannot be denied that it was all Tom and his ‘friends’ were) knew of the drastic change that occurred and like a true Slytherin, he was going to exploit it.

“The news would have come out eventually.” Tom muttered, “With this we can control when they get it instead of being blindsided by a Daily Prophet article. We have the higher ground for now.”

Bucky said no more, simply nodding in affirmation of his words, fingers fumbling with the clasps of the robes. It was time to put the plan into action. With a sigh, Tom fixed his wand tip at Bucky’s neck and whispered the incantation, watching the soldier go limp. Whirling around, he fired off more spells that ricocheted off the walls, listening as all hell broke loose. Bodies fell to the ground with an audible thud, and with a confident smile, Tom levitated Bucky into the air.

Time to bargain with a Dark Lord.

* * *

When Rastus Lestrange had heard the news from a frantic comrade, he had dismissed it as a drunken stupor. When more came, injured and crying of the same thing, he sprung into action. Internally his mind reeled at the implication. In fact, such news shouldn’t even be possible. The news was relayed to Grindelwald himself, and instead of dismissing such an obvious lie, Rastus’s leader had instead given the order to gather up the wizards not fighting, raiding, or protecting the base and for them to follow him to Nurmengard.

“Did you hear the news?” Antonin Dolohov asked Rastus as they mounted on their brooms together, “They say muggles have taken Nurmengard. How utterly preposterous. What can backwards filth do to break the wards, or win against trained wizards?”

Indeed, the whole thing was out of a nightmare. Ever since that muggle loving blood traitor joined the muggles (another ridiculous idea, what kind of wizard hung around filth? Must be a mudblood like the Prophet claimed), wizards had been getting shot down left and right with nothing but those muggle gons and gronaydes. To think that such a wizard would chose to fight in the muggle side, alongside muggles... how low can one man sink?

“I did.” Rastus replied, shooting off into the air with Dolohov by his side, “How low some will go.”

The both of them had graduated the year before, with decent NEWT scores between them. Granted, if their Lord had no helped them with their assignments, they probably wouldn’t have been able to pass their classes. Lord Voldemort was a veritable genius, and it was a shame that the Heir of Slytherin had one more year to complete before he graduated, otherwise he would have been a shoo-in, joining Lord Grindelwald in his righteous champaign, perhaps even surpassing the German Dark Lord.

Though, with his brains, his Lord Voldemort would certainly be able to pass his NEWTs with full scores before his seventh year ended.

“If our Lord were here,” Dolohov continued as they flew in perfect form to Nurmengard, wary of the muggle soldiers Grindelwald called a hydra, “he would have killed the filthy traitor himself. He would make the mudblood scream for mercy under the power of a true wizard!”

Lord Voldemort had a delicious penchant for violence, one that none of those in the Knights of Walpurgis could ever forget. The raw magic that flowed from his form as he walked the halls of Hogwarts made Rastus shiver at the mere thought of it. Even the mudbloods knew their place, almost bowing to him, fawning over his looks and his charms, to the Lord he was.

“Have you heard from him lately?” Rastus asked curiously, “He hasn’t sent us any letters.”

“Well neither have we.” Dolohov replied under his breath, “He’s still under the watchful eyes of that muggle loving Dumbledore, after what happened in our last year I highly doubt he would be able to send a proper missive without that goat finding out.”

Silence reigned between the two wizards as they reached Nurmengard, and were horrified with what they bore witness to. The once mighty fortress’s wards were in shambles, broken beyond recognition and repair. Littering the ground were the bodies of their fallen fellow wizards, some of them still smoking from both magic and muggle means. Whatever the animals had done to these brave men did not bode well for their cause. Banging and clattering could be heard from within the dark, imposing building, which thankfully meant that the muggles and the filthy traitor, as well as the prisoners previously locked up were still in there. Grindelwald called them into formation, standing apart from their own muggle ‘allies’, as if they would ever work with such lowly things. The muggles who sacrilegiously called themselves HYDRA had insisted on joining them on this venture, as if it were them, the wizards, that needed aid. How dare their presence insinuate such a thing?

Casting warming charms on themselves, the wizards waited in formation until the noises stopped, and it was obvious that the muggles had realized that they were surrounded. Rastus couldn’t help but grin. There was nowhere for these creatures to scuttle off to, the anti-portkey and anti-apparition wards were already drawn while the fools were banging around inside. It was possible for them to burst out like a bunch of Gryffindors, howling and using whatever muggle devices they had. Some wizards may die, but Rastus was sure that with enough wizards, they could be put down like the filthy beasts they were. Perhaps, he mused, he could bring home a head of one of these muggles, perhaps even the head of the traitor (though Grindelwald might want to have it mounted on a newly fortified Nurmengard instead) to show his Lord.

“Magicless Filth!” bellowed Grindelwald from in front of Rastus, “Your petty rescue mission ends here! How do you expect to win against the might of magic? Your kind has persecuted us for centuries, and now the world will realize how powerful we really are! To the blood traitor that brought mud into Nurmengard, have you no pride in your heritage? Have you no shame, fraternizing with filth?”

The words of his leader almost brought a tear to his eye. It couldn’t have been said better (unless it was by his Lord, who always had a way with words), and Rastus was sure the muggles were trembling by now. They probably weren’t expecting Grindelwald to show up and bring so many men, even if some of them were from HYDRA. Still, they waited, standing there silently like a pack of vultures on dying meat. For a good while nothing happened, until a shower of sparks and spellfire came bouncing from the entranceway. Shouting and screams could be heard, as well as the thumping sound of bodies hitting the floor. Something had gone wrong, very wrong, inside the walls of Nurmengard. Perhaps there was a wizard unaccounted for? No, all of the living followers would have either fled as a tactical escape or died, as none of the others were very bright.

A lone man was walking out of the entranceway of the fortress, blue eyes glinting dangerously in the winter cold. His wand was raised and levitating another man, unconscious (or dead) and prone. Rastus couldn’t believe his eyes at what he was seeing, though his heart swelled with joy.

“My Lord!” shouted Dolohov, immediately going down on one knee to Grindelwald’s surprise, “You have come!”

Lord Voldemort smirked, dropping his burden into the snow and twirling his yew wand between his fingers, his dark cloak fluttering in the wind. A snake rested atop his shoulders, like always, the symbol to any wizard of his status as the Heir of Slytherin. Cold eyes glinted in the frosty light, taking Rastus back to younger days.

“Well, what have we here?” Lord Voldemort purred out, prowling towards Grindelwald, looking for all the world like the cat that caught the canary, “Someone’s sent the cavalry to fix a vermin problem. How cute.”

At this, Grindelwald’s eyes narrowed.

“And who are you?” the German Dark Lord sneered, pointing his wand at the newcomer, “Coming out of the woodwork like this, stealing the show? And who’s this man that you’ve dropped at my feet like some half-eaten rat?”

Rastus watched in awe as Lord Voldemort unflinchingly met Grindelwald’s eyes, his smile growing wider as he towered over their leader (since when had he gotten so tall?).

“I am Lord Voldemort.” came the answer, and a chill ran down Rastus’s spine as he watched his Lord saunter around the army, “I’ve been around, biding my time until the perfect moment to make myself known. Though I see some of my own loyal followers have already joined your ranks.”

Knowing that it was his cue, Rastus bowed on one knee like Dolohov did, as well as a few other wizards who had known their Lord back in Hogwarts. The power that rolled off his presence was almost intoxicating, a feeling only known to those sensitive to the magical arts. Muggles knew not of his aura, and even Grindelwald had his hackles raised at the man, eyes tracking his every move.

“As for... this.” Lord Voldemort continued, nudging the limp form of the man in the snow with his foot, “This is my bargaining chip to you. A gift, one could even say.”

“You wish to join me?” Grindelwald asked carefully, eyes trained on the twirling bone-white wand, “Why this presentation?”

“ _Join you?_ ” sneered Lord Voldemort, laughing high and cold as many wizards then trained their wands at him, “And put myself beneath a wizard who just lost to a handful of muggles and a traitor? Pathetic. They are but simple men, easy to manipulate if you actually put effort into it instead of ignoring an itch until it becomes a blister! They’ve taken down how many of your men and all it took was five seconds of time to break them down.”

“So this is the traitor you have brought me, then?” Grindelwald ground out, holding out his arm to stop anyone from attacking, both annoyed and intrigued, “To prove your worth as an exceptional wizard in order to lead alongside me to change the world as it is?”

A bemused smile graced Voldemort’s features as the wizard tilted his head in a slight shrug. Rastus looked up to his Lord from his kneeling position, regarding the wizards with great awe. Here were two exceptional wizards of the age, circling each other like a pair of wolves, neither giving away their ground. But why was their Lord here now? Certainly he could have done this at any time before? Unless...

“Of sorts, yes.” was the answer Grindelwald received, “But also to warn you of a betrayal. The muggles who claim to be working with you, HYDRA, are in truth out for themselves. Though I’m sure you knew that already, I am equally sure that you did not know of their means to seize control of Nurmengard once you fell. They mean to destroy you now that your fortress has fallen, for they believe their weaponry will now certainly wipe your army out entirely, and I’m sure you know why.”

Immediately the wizards turned, wand tips glowing in the faces of the HYDRA soldiers. So his Lord had bided his time until the right time to destroy a good sum of these filthy muggle soldiers.

“Anyone here who could back his claim?” one follower asked suspiciously, causing Dolohov to growl in rage.

“You _dare_ question the word of Lord Voldemort?”

“He’s a stranger here!” cried another wizard, “Coming out of nowhere like this? Has anyone actually heard of this Lord Voldemort character before this?”

“I have.” Rastus yelled out, “And my Lord is true to the cause. He has come with information that aids us, so I suggest you respect him!”

Before the arguments could get any rowdier, Grindelwald raised his hand in the air.

“I suspected this already.” Grindelwald said aloud, almost as if he were trying to save face, “This Lord Voldemort has merely confirmed my suspicions. Get into your positions!”

Cries from both parties became known as the wizards and the HYDRA soldiers turned against each other, aiming their weapons at one another. The facade of unity was broken, and the two teams stood apart as enemies. Soon the sound of spellfire clashed with the blue beams of light (magic, how _dare_ these muggles use magic?) as the present members of Grindelwald’s army took on the soldiers of HYDRA. In the madness, Rastus looked around to see how his Lord was faring amongst the fray, firing spells at the enemy with vigor-

Except he wasn’t. Rastus could not find Lord Voldemort at all.

Suddenly his blood ran cold for a different reason, and the heir to the Lestrange House’s heart began to pound as his head whipped back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse of his Lord. As the soldiers from both sides began to fall, Rastus noticed one horrifying detail. The body of the traitor was up and shooting not spells, but firing away with a large muggle gon, and fighting beside him was Lord Voldemort himself. The cloaks and robes were discarded to reveal muggle uniforms as his Lord, the bane of muggle and mudbloods, fought alongside someone that was previously thought to be his enemy.

“Bucky, duck!” shouted his Lord, heading in front of the previously unconscious man and activated a shield on his arm to protect him.

A blast of spellfire headed for the mystery man, ‘Bucky’, who didn’t even use his wand, favoring his muggle weapon and revealing his true non-magical nature and his Lord saved the filthy beast with a shield bearing the crest of Slytherin. The ultimate sacrilege. It was as if he took a Crucio to the chest, the pain indescribable. His Lord, Lord Voldemort, the Heir of Slytherin and the once leader of the Knights of Walpurgis, was the true wizard traitor.

They met eyes briefly, Rastus and the man he once called Lord. Piercing grey and the thrumming blue of magic itself, pain and determination. A wry, almost sad smile curls the lips of Lord Voldemort, whose true name eluded him even now (it wasn’t one of the old names, now that he thought about it, how far back was his deceit?).

“Forgive me, Lestrange.” Rastus saw the man mouth, “But I’m not the man I was.”

Rastus vaguely registered himself shouting something into the air, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the others, Dolohov, turning to the retreating wizard but unable to do anything but fight back against the soldiers of HYDRA. Betrayal shone in the eyes of all the wizards who followed Lord Voldemort through the halls of Hogwarts, but such a thing was no longer. Lord Voldemort had turned, Rastus had cried, Lord Voldemort is the traitor. He raised his wand, the same one he pledged loyalty with back when he was but a student, against the same man he once followed.

The last thing Rastus Lestrange saw was a green light headed straight for him, and then he knew no more.

* * *

With a whoop of triumph, Sergeants Riddle and Barnes made their way to where the rest of the group had gathered, taking away the disillusionment charms on their persons. With their arrival as the signal, all the Commandos looked to Dernier, who raised his hand in a waiting gesture and tapped his timepiece. After a moment an explosion rocked the ground, and from above the trees fire and smoke could be seen.

Nurmengard had fallen. Grindelwald’s fortress had been a symbol of his reign for so long, that its destruction would hopefully change the tide of the war. Tom released a breath that he didn’t know he was holding, a weight rolling off his shoulders.

“Well, good thing you didn’t run your mouth any longer.” Bucky muttered to Tom as they watched the fireworks in the distance, “Or we would’ve been caught in that too.”

He was free, in a way, from the lie he had led in school. He was free to pave a way for himself among the brave and the strong, among his friends, the soldiers.

“Lucky for you I put a decent delay on the first charge then, hm?” Dernier grunted as he picked up his bag of gear.

Now far from the pandemonium in front of the falling remains of Nurmengard, Captain America and his Howling Commandos (and Agent Carter) led the group of freed wizards and witches into the camp that Howard Stark set up. The scientist himself was absolutely ecstatic, catching each man in a one armed bearhug. With haste the team packed everything they had and loaded it up into the getaway plane. Ecstatic, bellowing laughter echoed from the metal walls as the soldiers returned from a successful mission, with almost a dozen wizards and witches newly freed.

“You know I thought in a trust fall, you’re supposed to catch the guy falling!” Dugan rumbled out amongst the crowd, causing another raucous uproar, “We really stuck it to that stick wavin’ Fritzie though, so a little knock on the noggin seems worth it all!”

Tom couldn’t stop the smile in his face, which faltered at the memory of Lestrange’s look of betrayal before Tom had cast the killing curse at him. With all the personal knowledge the man... boy had on him, keeping him alive would have been detrimental. If Lestrange told Grindelwald all he knew about Tom, the enemy would have had an advantage.

“I must say, the you were right about neither side trusting the other.” Falsworth said to Tom, “They turned on each other like a pack of dogs with only the word of someone no better than a stranger.”

Or at least, that was what Tom kept telling himself. Was this the first time he killed someone he knew? He was expecting to feel a gut wrenching sorrow, but all he felt was a final goodbye to the boy that he had been before he had embarked on a journey to find his grandfather.

“Just know that I had to deal with a face full of snow while you were mouthing off to the guy.” Bucky muttered, his face buried in a scarf, “I was getting bored listening to all the shit you were spouting. You telling me you used to believe in that stuff?”

It was hard for even Tom to believe that he had, now, with all that had happened. Tom wondered what he would have been like had he still followed that path (he would have been graduating Hogwarts as Head Boy, at least, with a pick of any profession due to his NEWT scores), but then shook his head to banish those thoughts. This path was thrust upon him, and he wasn’t going to think about what the other paths had held if he still had work to do.

“Afraid so, my friend.” Tom sighed out, fidgeting with his own wand, “But things have changed, and I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

The words ‘and HYDRA’ went unsaid.

The plane landed back in Britain without much difficulty, though the turbulence did have Tom’s heart almost leaping out of his chest a couple of times. As ‘ingenious’ as these muggle contraptions were, he _still_ hated flying in something that could fall apart at any moment. It seemed that this was a sentiment shared by most of the members of the magical community flying with them, who were taking the flight with various levels of panic. Most of them had to be stunned to prevent any problem, which was something that he would have to explain to the Ministry Officials when they got to the designated meeting point. This ordeal was hilarious to every muggle on board, including Agent Carter, who rolled her eyes with a barely hidden smile while the rest of the men howled with laughter under Tom’s withering glare.

Speaking of Ministry Officials, Tom had been wondering about who they would send to debrief the freed magicals, seeing as the SSR’s involvement with the Magical World was kept in strict confidentiality to prevent any attacks on the muggle organization. He didn’t have to Wonder long, as standing next to Colonel Philips was none other than Albus Dumbledore himself, dressed in a surprisingly appropriate muggle suit with a smile on his face.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you managed to do what many wizards wished they could do, Tom.” Dumbledore told the teen wizard genially, patting him on the back as he greeted the others, “I shall take them from here and accompany them so that Colonel Philips-” he suddenly gave a pointed smile to Tom’s stiffly standing boss as if sharing some sort of inside joke that had transpired whilst they were away, “can ask them some questions. Come, ladies and gentlemen!”

The prisoners were led away, followed closely by Agent Carter, Howard Stark, Captain America, and finally his Howling Commandos. Tom’s eyes followed the line of disgruntled but relieved witches and wizards as they marched into the underground base.

Hopefully after all this they could get a well deserved drink.


	11. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Respite: Noun. A pause or rest from something difficult or unpleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to leave Kudos!

“I’m just saying it’s funny!”

Bucky’s grin did not waver under the deadpan glare of both Steve and Tom, and instead took another swig from the horn of firewhiskey. The Sergeant was holding two newspapers in his hands, one of which was the Daily Prophet, and the other of which was Daily Mirror. Both papers proclaimed the fall of Nurmengard (though only the Prophet named it as such), but the face and names of the one who brought it down were different.

“And what part of this, Bucky, is ‘funny’?” Tom drawled out, taking out his lighter and lighting the tip of the cigarette wedged between his lips with a scowl on his face.

For the Mirror, it was a rather majestic picture of Steve posing in uniform, with the headlines “CAPTAIN AMERICA DOES IT AGAIN! ANOTHER ENEMY BASE DOWNED” printed above his head. It had only been a week and both the magical and muggle sides were all aflutter, and suddenly the icon of Captain America had somehow grown even more popular than he had been during the first few missions and the USO tours combined. Tom was introduced to a new word, ‘franchising’, as he gazed with horrified expression at the toys, posters, and other objects depicting caricatures of his Captain and friend.

“Is there reason they always have to make me out to be some sort of lone hero?” Steve muttered with a grimace before drinking from his tankard of butterbeer, “You guys were all there too...”

On the Prophet, however, a different story arises. There, on the front page, was Tom Riddle himself. Or, at least, that’s who it was supposed to be. Dumbledore had thought it prudent, for some reason, for Tom to take a page from Steve’s book and wear a mask to hide his identity so that when the wizards and witches were paraded into the Ministry with the ‘man who saved them’, no one could tell that it was just a boy barely in his adulthood.

“Yes but unlike you, _we_ were not dressed in a gaudy red, white and blue uniform.” Tom replied, releasing a puff of smoke into the air with a smirk, which turned into laughter when Steve shot him a grimacing pout, “Us Howling Commandos aren’t the most colorful... well, unless you count our language. And I must say Captain, I’ve learned quite a few interesting words in more than just English.”

Since there wasn’t an overabundance of masks just laying around, nor time to make a proper mask like Steve’s (which Tom wouldn’t wear anyway, the dratted thing looked far too... American), a regular black gas mask (with the canister removed and the lenses tinted so that one couldn’t see through them) was used instead.

“Says the guy who looks like some sort of harbinger of death.” Bucky retorted, tapping the moving picture of the wizard marching alongside the freed prisoner, “Your ‘Lord Voldemort’ look still made the front page of the magical newspaper, despite Steve’s colorful uniform. Apparently since you wizards dress in crazy colors anyway, a guy in all black wearing a gas mask in going to cause more of a stir.”

Tom himself had argued that his old ‘friends’ would know immediately, it was the professor who then admitted to wiping that particular bit of information from the students’ heads not soon after Tom himself had become a part of the Howling Commandos. The slightly guilty look on his face at stating this only prompted a raise of an eyebrow from Tom, who was doing his best not to show how much that action meant to him. It was rare for Dumbledore to show this much loyalty to someone outside of Gryffindor, so for him to do this for Tom was...

“Quite a stir is a bit of an understatement, really.” Tom muttered with a scowl, “I’ve somehow gained the same popularity in the magical world as Steve has in the muggle world.”

While it did the trick, the picture of a man clad entirely in black (including the hat he usually never wore) with a gas mask (something completely alien to the magical community), and the Shield of Slytherin our for all to see, and the words “NURMENGARD HAS FALLEN! WHO IS THIS ‘LORD VOLDEMORT’?” made Tom look miles more sinister then your friendly muggle Captain America.

“Which is why I think it’s funny!” countered Bucky, holding up both front pages side by side, “Here we have two heroes all dolled up in uniform with shields by their sides all heroic like, the faces of their respective worlds, I mean _look_!”

Even so, the ‘franchising’ had bee extended to him as well, courtesy of some muggle officials who decided that Britain needed their own heroic icon to make sure the Americans weren’t taking all of the glory. Hence why there were propaganda posters, flyers, toys, and other things holding the image of Tom’s new Lord Voldemort getup. Tom had gotten one item of each as they were released, and his friends held him back, laughing, before he could set fire to the dratted things. At least now he knew how Steve felt with the attention as Captain America.

He wondered, briefly, how his younger self would have taken the idea of Lord Voldemort being a muggle symbol of heroism.

“I for one think it’s fascinating to see the mirror sides of our two worlds.” came another voice, “Though yes, I think Riddle’s getup does invoke some, ah, unsettling imagery. Especially with that mask on his face.”

Tom turned to see that the voice was none other than Fleamont Potter himself, who then proceeded to order a tankard of butterbeer before sitting down on the empty chair next to Tom’s own barstool. He was wearing an overcoat that probably covered the more Wizard-esque clothing he was wearing underneath, but nonetheless didn’t seem to be completely out of place in a bar that really was reserved for muggles and muggleborn.

“Potter.” Tom greeted with a raised eyebrow, “Now what do we owe the pleasure, seeing as a pureblood such as yourself would normally be at the Leaky Cauldron next door?”

A smile spread across Potter’s face as he pushed his circular spectacles back into position. Tom himself hadn’t seen the man since the parade in Diagon Alley when the freed prisoners were brought home, though he had heard the man had visited his father with his wife, who had thanked the masked Lord Voldemort for bringing her husband home. The Potioneer leaned back, his grey eyes conveying a kind of determined resolution.

“Many things, actually. But I suppose I should start from the beginning.” Potter answered, before his smile diminished slightly, “I’m sure as a Slytherin, you are aware of the fact that the Potter family was excluded as part of the Sacred Twenty Eight, despite having a longer history of magical blood and all that rot.”

Another puff of smoke curled into the air, mingling with the many other wisps that floated from the other patrons. Tom regarded the Potioneer carefully, wondering why in the world Potter was bringing that particular subject up. Of course he knew, as knowing the old families (and one’s ties to them) was how he survived Slytherin for so long, but such a fact seemed rather... trivial nowadays.

“I do.” said Tom with curiosity, one eyebrow raised before turning to Bucky and Steve, “The Sacred Twenty Eight is the group of families that are still considered ‘truly pure-blood’. It’s a status that holds quite a bit of weight in Pureblood society, though the Potters were excluded from this group.”

Both Steve and Bucky nodded in understanding, having heard enough of Tom’s previous explanations to grasp the concept of blood purity in the Wizarding World. Potter nodded, satisfied that they had enough past knowledge for whatever he was about to say next.

“Yes, well the reason for the Potter family’s exclusion would be my father Henry.” The Potioneer continued, “Or Harry, that’s what we call him. He was in the Wizengamot during the First World War, or as you muggles called it at the time, the War to End All Wars, and had publicly condemned Minister Evermonde for forbidding us wizards from helping you muggles. His outspokenness had him labeled as a ‘muggle-lover’ and a blood traitor, and the family excluded from ‘proper pureblood society’, though between you and me they’ve been a little more lenient ever since my hair potion started getting popular.”

Potter had ended his speech with a jaunty smile and wink, though Tom was already deeply processing the older wizard’s words. So it was the First World War that implemented the stigma of not helping the muggles.

“So you’re here to...” Bucky began, eyebrows furrowed, “Follow your father’s advice and help out with the war?”

At this, Potter beamed at the dark haired sergeant while nodding his head. Indeed, perhaps the innate cheerfulness of others is simply a non-Slytherin aspect. Tom leaned on the bartop, smoke flowing from the burning tip placed between thin lips. It caught the attention of Potter, who had said his part and was now watching the smoke with great interest.

“That is the shortest pipe I’ve ever seen!” the man crowed, “How do you pack tobacco into it?”

A snort came from the two muggle soldiers, while Tom rolled his eyes at them. Potter looked between them in confusion, grey eyes flickering from the teen wizard and his comrades.

“Good to know we still have things in common, and here I thought you guys would smoke some magical plant that makes fire pour out of your nose or something...” Steve chuckled out, which made Potter tilt his head in consideration.

Truth be told, Tom didn’t know anything about magical tobacco, as he only started smoking during the third HYDRA base raid, as it entailed quite a bit of waiting. The rest of the Commandos had taken the small boxes from their ration packs and began lighting the small sticks to Tom’s curiosity. Bucky, Tom remembered clearly, had laughed at his hacking and coughing when the wizard had tried the Merlin forsaken thing for the first time. Now that he thought about it, the idea of manually packing tobacco into a pipe sounded rather irritating, no matter what the magical variant was supposed to do.

“Well,” Potter thought aloud, “There are different types of magical tobacco, most of which have interesting effects, yes. There is one blend, according to an old schoolmate of mine who was producing it, with the ability to transform the smoker into a blue flamingo.”

This time Steve and Bucky _did_ break out into peaks of laughter, causing Potter to grin widely. Tom, on the other hand, felt something pang in his chest watching the merriment of his fiends and Potter, and he didn’t quite like it. The sight of the ease of which the older pureblooded Gryffindor had injected himself between Tom and his muggle brethren (was he seeing ghosts where there were none? The thought crossed his mind) made an old emotion bubble to the surface. From his years under the roof of Wool’s Orphanage, the emotion he was feeling was easy to pinpoint.

Jealousy.

But that was simply ridiculous. Potter was simply... more sociable... than Tom himself was. Sure, he could pretend like he did at Hogwarts, play the part of the charismatic prince, but that would do nothing in the face of those who know his true nature. Perhaps this feeling will go away with time. After all, Potter would be an immense aid to the Allied forces and the SSR, and Tom could use an extra pair of magical eyes to review his work. Yes, yes, the jealousy will pass.

* * *

Convincing Howard that Potter would be a good addition to the team was child’s play, the scientist excited with having another magical mind on board. Convincing Colonel Philips and the other higher ups of the notion was like stealing eggshells from a nesting Occamy. It was, however, successful after a three hour verbal warring between the leader of the SSR and Dumbledore. Having another wizard around was a relief to Tom, who now had a little more time to spare now that Potter took on the Potions side of weapons development, as well as being an extra hand in the runework.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing that Potter seemed to be taking over once he joined the SSR. ‘Monty’, as the soldiers began to call him, fit in perfectly with the group, being a far more open and extroverted individual than Tom was. Initially, he thought nothing of the man’s ease of making friends, though privately it grated on his nerves somewhat with how simple it was for the pureblood scion to socialize with his friends.

It started rather small, with the Commandos and Potter going out for drinks, to them sitting around him as they listened to his tales of the magical world. Even worse, Potter began to (whether he knew it or not) take on more of Tom’s original jobs, from Technomancy development to Coming with them on raids and fighting alongside them. Such a thing would originally be a good thing if it weren’t for Potter dropping hints that Tom should return to his schooling after a few week’s time, not that the other soldiers seemed to notice. Was it a figment of his imagination? Was he seeing Potter as an enemy where the man wasn’t? He would have dismissed the idea of replacement if the older members of the SSR hadn’t started to ignore him in favor of Potter.

Perhaps the addition of another magical closer to their own age was simply more interesting, with Tom being the youngest member of the Commandos by quite a bit, but surely it wasn’t grounds to replace...

The feeling of jealousy did not pass. In fact, it elbowed it’s way to the forefront of Tom’s mind as the days passed. In an attempt to ignore it, Tom threw himself into his work with a vigor that bordered on obsessive. Surely, he thought, if he was going to be replaced by ‘Monty’ anyway, he should get as much research done as possible. Tom’s behavior change after the first few weeks of Potter’s ‘employment’ was noticed immediately by Steve, Howard, Peggy, and the other members of the Howling Commandos. The boy that had just begun to fully open his heart to them had suddenly slammed down proverbial walls, the teen wizard retreating back into his cold and professional persona. On the battlefield, Lord Voldemort’s infamy grew despite the addition of the new wizard, outdoing the older magical in ruthlessness. The sea of blood and bodies did little to release Tom of his anger, and many of his friends became worried about him.

It was Bucky that put two and two together after the offhand comment made by Potter about the importance of finishing one’s NEWTs and Tom’s returning venomous glare, whispered something into Steve’s ear, and promptly dragged the black-clad boy to a unused office at the base, much to Potter’s confusion.

“You’re not being replaced, Tom.” was the first thing out of Bucky’s mouth, cutting off the scathing remark that had on the tip of his tongue, “Don’t think that having another wizard, an older wizard yes, around means that he takes your spot in the Commandos. That’s not what being a team means.”

Tom opened his mouth to retort, but Bucky held up a hand in order to continue.

“I think Monty’s misread you as much as you vilify him. He thinks you’re skipping school because you believe you’re the only wizard fighting the front, and so he’s trying to, well, ease your burden. I really is obvious for the rest of us, but I think that your inherent mistrust and paranoia prevented you from seeing that. Maybe you should actually, I don’t know, settle this diplomatically instead of dancing around each other with words.”

At this Tom raised a single eyebrow, wondering where Bucky was going with this. There was a high possibility that yes, Potter was indeed attempting to be an overbearing parent (though how was he to know, for he had none) and that his jealousy had clouded his reason. However, the way Bucky’s eyes were flickering towards the door whenever he thought Tom wasn’t looking told Tom that there was more to the soldier’s words than meets the eye.

The purpose for such behavior soon manifested itself in the form of Steve, who opened the door and greeted the two of them with a nod. Behind him was none other than Potter, who came into the room looking rather confused. Tom squashed down the emotions he had come to associate with the man, attempting to follow the words his friends had spoken so passionately (which is rare, coming from the rather laid back soldier), and greeted the wizard civilly. Bucky stood up from where he was sitting atop a desk, saluted, and followed Steve out of the room before closing the door behind him, the lock clicking into place.

A feeling of slight weakness washed over him, and it wasn’t until a second later that Tom blinked rapidly, his brain finally catching up to what had just transpired. His two friends had just locked him a room with Potter to ‘talk things out’, and if they were as Slytherin as he knew them to be, they would have placed a Wizard Trap (the rune array he had simplified and perfected) on the door with some pencil or pen. To test his theory, he attempted to shoot an Alohomora at the lock, only for the magic to fizzle out before it could gather on the Wand tip.

“They used my own work against me.” he muttered without venom, catching the attention of Potter, who had been in his own thoughts, “Why am I not surprised?”

Potter chose this time walk over to the teen wizard, sitting down in one of the chairs and fixing his eyeglasses. He seemed to be rather nervous, fiddling with his wand as he gathered his thoughts. Tom decided to wait to see what the man would say, leaning back on the wall with his arms crossed. A minute of silence passed between them, the tension of unspoken words and uncertainty almost thick enough to touch. Finally, Potter decided to speak.

“I’m sorry if I’ve caused any... undue attention. It was not my intention to make you feel replaced amongst your friends.”

So, Steve must have spoken to him at the same time that Bucky had dragged Tom into the room. His words alleviated the negative emotion somewhat, but such things are not easy to let go of, so before the older man could continue, Tom sighed, deciding to listen to his friends advice, though it pained him slightly to do so.

“I, too, apologize for any viciousness that may have been directed towards you, I may have misread your intentions.”

At the final word, Tom gave Potter a pointed look, conveying the unspoken statement that he wanted answers. Why would Potter be so bothered by the seventeen year old genius fighting a war that was winning thanks to said genius? He had thought he had made his vigor for fighting and serving known, so Bucky’s reasoning made rather little sense. To a wizard, Tom himself was a grown man and capable of taking care of himself. The Potioneer also knew that while NEWTs were important, they could be taken at any time, and surely, fighting in the war is far more important than a score for a career that Tom may not even live to use?

“As you know, I am well within the middle age.” Potter began, and Tom quirked a confused eyebrow at him, watching as the man took a deep breath and continued, “My wife Euphemia and I have been trying to conceive a child to no avail. We have already gone past the prime age, and with every year our chances get slimmer and slimmer. Had we a child during that time, they would be your age now, so I when I saw you fighting Grindelwald and his army back when you rescued me, my heart clenched in fear. That could have been _my_ child, _my_ son, putting his life on the line. I... I know it doesn’t make much sense, but I suppose I saw you as the son I never had, and I only wanted to see you safe and flowering in the Wizarding World where your genius would be adored. I did not mean to seem overbearing, Riddle.”

Out of all the things that he was expecting to come out of Potter’s mouth, _this_ was not one of them. Then again, why else would the older wizard behave like some sort of overbearing parent? The explanation made quite a bit of sense, but it wasn’t the answer that Tom thought he was going to get. Seeing him as a child and wanting to coddle him, he could see, but not this.

“So...” Tom began slowly, the gears in his head turning as he tried to wrap his head around the idea, “You believe me to be the son that you never had, and may not ever have?”

Potter at least had the decency to blush at the rather blunt statement, but nodded shortly before staring at the wand that he was still fiddling in his hands. Surprisingly, a nervous tick that they shared. Tom thought over this revelation, and found him not recoiling in disgust. Indeed, they both had dark hair, aristocratic features and pale skin (and both descended from the Peverell line), so it was not hard for the uninformed passerby to assume that they were father and son. Had he been the same boy that stalked the halls with Lestrange, Macnair, and Dolohov, he would have manipulated the man into doing anything he wanted, using the Potioneer’s weakness against him. Now, he was simply stunned that the man would admit such a personal thing, especially when Tom himself had admitted to being openly hostile to him.

He would make a good father at least, when the time came.

“Perhaps it’s best then, to begin again.” Tom finally said, breaking the moment of awkward silence that had come between them.

The messy haired man looked up and beamed, grey eyes smiling from behind large spectacles. The sheer happiness that seemed to emanate from the man caused Tom to quirk his lips upward as well, the jealousy slowly leaving him. As if on cue, Steve and Bucky chose this moment to unlock the door, and Tom’s blue eyes picked up on the paper being torn from the door.

“You guys done?” asked Bucky with a cheeky grin, head swiveling between the two of them before nodding, “Good! Now we can go get drinks and rev ourselves up for the next raid!”

Steve and Potter readily agreed with the man, causing Tom to roll his eyes. Now that the situation was resolved, Potter informed them that he would save them a table at the Leaky Pot, and promptly jogged off to do just that. The three remaining men looked at each other, the silence that enveloped them a comfortable one, one that only a family-like closeness could forge.

“It’s good to have you back, Tom.” said Steve with a wide smile, patting the teen wizard on the back, an action quickly mirrored by Bucky.

They were always so forgiving of his actions, those two. Even when he was at fault, they would welcome him back. There was once a time when he thought that such emotions such as attachment and sentiment was a sign of weakness, but now he saw it for what they were - a sign of strength, for those who can forgive after being broken are the strongest of all.

With a small, genuine smile, Tom replied.

“It’s good to be back.”

* * *

As it does when one is placed in a hectic environment such as war, time flew by like a Golden Snitch. Before Tom knew it, the year’s end was approaching, and everyone seemed to be all aflutter. Not for the New Years, no, but for his eighteenth birthday the day before it. Even Monty was ecstatic about the whole affair, which baffled Tom to no end.

The two wizards had gotten close after they decided to put their differences behind them and although the Slytherin/Gryffindor rivalry was still there, no real venom was ever in their words. Monty became quite the mentor, working alongside Tom to produce more runes, wards, and charms, and even added his own spells to the Shield of Loki. As the older wizard usually stayed in the laboratory, he made it one of his top priorities to fit Captain America and his Howling Commandos with the best magical protections possible. This had resulted in the Potter-and-Stark birthchild of a new form of underarmor made in part from dragonhide. The material was placed inside the uniforms much like the carbon polymer fabric had been, but the new armor reduced injuries in the field by half.

Tom had also been introduced to Monty’s wife, Euphemia, who had immediately taken to him (for reasons that still baffled him). The woman seemed to fuss over him (more than the others) endlessly, and would tut at him if he ever came back injured (which was quite a few times) and dote upon him in a matronly manner. Many of the Commandos poked fun at him because of this, but for Tom, who had been left motherless hours after his birth and no one in his childhood to take her place, her actions were secretly appreciated. Euphemia (Feemie, dear, nobody calls me by my full name!) also would send care packages full of goods cooked by her house elves over to them (secretly, so that Colonel Philips couldn’t yell at her for it) if their missions were particularly long and grueling.

Tom wondered, very briefly, if this was what having parents was like.

On December 31, 1944, Howard insisted on working alone in the lab, shooing a rather confused Tom away with a glare. Before the man behind Lord Voldemort could protest, Bucky and Steve dragged him off for a day in town. Tom had barely enough time to swipe his now trademark mask and helmet, as well as Jormungand from the pile of papers the asp was sleeping on before he was whisked away by the two enthusiastic soldiers.

“ _Where are we going?_ ” asked the drowsy snake as he slithered into the hidden sleeve of his collar.

Tom was unceremoniously shoved into the black automobile owned by the SSR, which was used as one of the Commandos’ modes of transport. Such a vehicle was only used when they were going into the city, so the young wizard surmised that wherever they were going, it was in London. Seeing as they only ever frequented one establishment in London, he could deduce where they were most likely headed.

“ _I’m not quite sure_ ,” was Tom’s answer as he fixed the mask and military hat in place from where he was sitting in the backseat, “ _But I have a hunch._ ”

To his surprise the answer was not the Leaky Pot like he had assumed, the car whizzing past the establishment that had quickly become the Howling Commandos’ home base outside of the SSR. Steve and Bucky were visibly enjoying Tom’s look of confusion, seen through their reflection in the rear view mirror. Confusion soon turned into alarm as a familiar grey building loomed in the distance. At the stricken expression on Tom’s face, Steve and Bucky gave a wry smile.

“I don’t understand. Why Wool’s?” Tom asked, his voice not betraying the slight discomfort that he always felt when he was near the blasted orphanage.

Of all places to take him, why here? He had no happy memories of this place, only phantom pain and anger. The car halted in the parking lot in the back and all three men got out, the gravel that made up the ground crunching beneath their boots.

“You’re a grown man now, Tom.” the young wizard heard from the blond haired man behind him, “It’s time to let go of the past. We’re here because today, your birthday and incidentally the last day of the year, is the day for closure so you can find a new beginning.”

Tom rolled his eyes at Steve waxing poetic again, but remained silent. With thin fingers the wizard took off the mask he usually wore. It didn’t matter here, for no one ever came here.  
He directed blue eyes upward, and noticed how the grayness of the dilapidated building melted with the rainy sky. It was just as depressing as it was when he had been here last, a fitting picture of greyscale, as if to say this was a place where no joy could be found.

“Ready to take a trip down memory lane?” Bucky’s voice rang out among the silence, the sound of children inside the building muffled by the hard brick exterior.

Wool’s had not always been an orphanage. It had been a factory of some sort (though for the life of him Tom couldn’t remember what they had produced), so the walls were reinforced to prevent the loud noises of the machinery from escaping the building. When Edward Wool bought the building after the factory declared bankruptcy, the place was gutted from the inside whilst the outside remained the same. There were still some remnants of the old factory there, as he and the other children (not _together_ , of course) used to collect the odd bits of machinery that had not been cleared. Even so, perhaps the place would have been better as an asylum than an orphanage.

“Already ahead of you.” Tom muttered, causing the other two to laugh, their joy already bringing color into this lifeless place as he walked along the path that seemed so foreign now, after everything he had seen and experienced.

The lawn (as it always had) lacked any flowers or live plants, the ones planted there having died long ago from neglect. He remembered Mrs. Cole tasking the children to plant some potted flowers that were donated to them, back when he was small and didn’t quite understand that he was a little different from everyone else. He had picked a quiet corner, a place all to himself, and lowered the plant (a child itself, all green and yet to flower) into the dirt with a nervous, innocent care that Tom most likely no longer possessed. Throughout the season all the children took care of their own personal plant, and in the springtime all the flowers were alive and in bloom. By winter, however, the children despaired as their petaled friends died in the cold.

Well, all but one. Tom had unconsciously used his magic to keep his fragile Forget Me Nots alive and blooming, painting it’s lonely corner with color. Alas, such things were not to last. The flower was discovered by some older children and, in their jealousy, had stomped the poor blue flower into a wintery white grave. As the years passed, Tom had actively avoided that corner, afraid of the feeling of grief he would feel when he came across it, a feeling he would only pinpoint when Billy Stubbs would crush his grass snake, Nagini, in much the same manner.

 _At which point_ , Tom wondered as he reached the front door of the place he had grown up in, _had I become so detached? So angry?_

He tilted his face down, fixing his military hat upon his head. Could he still see the rag-clothed boy full of rage and coldness, face blank with tears that he wouldn’t dare shed, if he looked in the mirror? A gloved fist was raised, knocking on the door automatically. Even from that day that he had last seen Stubbs, Tom had changed. Would he be recognized? The second the doorknob squeaked and turned, he changed his demeanor to that of the polite yet rigid soldier. The door then opened, revealing someone Tom knew he had to confront sooner or later.

Mrs. Cole, who was once a young woman with a no nonsense attitude, looked older and more haggard. She could only have been in her late thirties, as she and his mother had been close in age when she died in that very building, and yet her hair was already greying, and wrinkles were becoming pronounced on her face. How ironic, that her youth would be stolen by children. Hazel eyes registered his uniform, his rank, and the woman immediately straightened up, especially when she noted the other two soldiers behind him.

“How may I help you, Sergeants, Captain?” she asked, and Tom could sense the confusion in her professional tone.

That greeting at least answered his previous question. She, who had dealt with him for a good sixteen years, had not recognized him. In reply, Tom’s fingers clasped the brim of his hat, bringing it down to his chest.

“Hello Mrs. Cole.” he began, internally smirking as her eyes widened in recognition, “I am here for my things, now that I am of age. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes have simply decided to accompany me.”

A snort came from Bucky at the last statement, and Tom made a crude gesture with his hand behind his back at the American, causing the two to attempt to (and fail to) hide their laughter. Tom’s lips twitched upwards briefly, something apparently noticed by the woman at the door. Mrs. Cole, for her part, stared at him as if he were a zoo animal.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle.” she murmured, her eyes darting to him, to his friends, and then back to him, “I can hardly recognize you. It seems the army has done well, cleaning you up.” that part was said as she looked towards Bucky and Steve, “Come in, come in.”

With a nod, Tom followed he woman back into the place that made up his childhood, his expression curious now that the caretaker’s back was turned. He’d never quite seen Mrs. Cole’s cordial side before, but perhaps this was because he was now an adult and not simply a ward anymore. Steve and Bucky followed closely behind, curiously peering everywhere.

“You grew up here?” whispered Bucky, who had jogged up to walk beside Tom on the wizard’s left.

The inside of the place was much like it was when he had last seen it. The same peeling paint and moldy walls, the same sound of screeching children in sorrow and play. Tom schooled his face to be blank as he walked past familiar hallways, memories flooding his mind and flitting away as swiftly as they came. The things that had been done to him, the sins that he had committed behind these walls.

“Think you’ll miss the place?” added Steve, coming up on his right.

Killing Billy Stubbs’ rabbit in retaliation for him crushing Nagini. Traumatizing Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop for picking on him in the schoolyard. That time he had simply planted a haunting idea in their minds weeks before, priming them and hinting that Hell would be coming for them, before taking them to a cave and calling a hoard of snakes to slither all over their screaming forms. He had made worms burst from ripe apples, weeds wrap their roots around fleeing boots, and wardrobes close on children while they searched for something inside (and only open when Mrs. Cole or another caretaker opened it for them).

“I don’t think I will, no.” Tom whispered lowly, walking past the other ward rooms, remembering the children that once occupied them and every terrible thing he had done to them.

To be honest, he was a rather horrible child, taking pleasure in the pain of others after being hurt one too many times (the things one could do to you if they thought you were devil spawn) by both fellow orphans and staff. However, the pain that he had endured in comparison to the pain he caused in later years was quite superficial (or perhaps not, he winced as he remembered the feel of cold water filling his lungs, the booming voice of the priest). Growing up in a loveless home had raised a loveless child, and the slights cast upon him would be magnified tenfold each year he grew.

“Well then, better say your goodbyes.” said Bucky, slapping Tom on the back and causing a couple children running past to stop and stare at the American.

But that had abruptly changed with the arrival of these idiots, who had taught him that he didn’t have to lie and cheat in order to get somewhere in life. Soon enough they reached the end of the hallway, Mrs. Cole stopping at the last door on the left. The sheer familiarity caused Tom to step forward and open the door himself, pushing it swiftly so that the hinges wouldn’t squeak. What was revealed was a room much smaller than the others, only containing a single bed, a small wardrobe and desk. A worn trunk lay at the foot of his bed, warded to the nines as it held all of his worldly belongings (or at least the belongings he didn’t put in his mokeskin pouch before the unexpected trip to Austria). A whistling sound came from behind, curtesy of Bucky as the two muggle soldiers shuffled awkwardly into the room after him.

“What is this, solitary confinement?” Steve asked incredulously, causing both Mrs. Cole and Tom to make a noise that was _almost_ a snort at the same time, before the two stared at one another curiously.

Both of them knew that his room at the end of the hall used to be a storage closet, but was repurposed once Tom had trapped his roommate in the wardrobe (not that they could ever be quite sure that it was him). It was a unanimous decision (as Tom couldn’t stand any of his roommates) that the independent toddler be given a room of his own, away from the other children so that they wouldn’t incur his wrath.

“Not too far off, actually.” the wizard drawled out, causing the two soldiers to roll their eyes.

Thin fingers closed around the handle of the trunk, the wards registering his magic as their owner and not shocking him with a stinging hex (if he was a muggle) or a Crucio-like curse (if he were an enemy wizard). A sigh escaped his lips. This was certainly closure, the end of a horrible part of his life, one that had almost put him on the path of lies and fear mongering and blood purity. Now, perhaps, he would one day have to pay for all the sins that he had committed.

“I suppose it’s time to go now.” Tom said lowly, for once allowing his friends to hear the weight of his feelings in his voice.

Signing out of Wool’s Orphanage was a quiet, but not somber, affair. He was surprised that all the forms were prepared before he realized that Mrs. Cole had probably been planning on this day since the year he went to Hogwarts. It took only a couple of hours for the entire process to be completed, but by the end of it Tom felt a great weight lifted from his shoulders. He was free from these walls, from this horrid place that had caused so much pain (and that he had caused pain in). With his trunk in hand he strode back towards the black automobile that brought him here, Mrs. Cole wishing him luck with the rest of his life, and commented on his newfound army discipline. Those words of good will became slightly false as the pitch of her voice heightened upon seeing Jormungand, who had slithered out of his collar sleepily (and had caused the woman to shriek; she had never liked his serpentine friends).

The ride home was far less quiet than the trip out, as both Steve and Bucky each tried to guess what Tom kept inside his school trunk. Tom eventually rolled his eyes and explained to them slowly what a school trunk was, and both men groaned in disappointment when they heard it was simply full of textbooks, stationary, and homework.

By the time the car rolled into the street that held the entrance to the SSR, the sun was reaching the tops of the building, signaling the cusp of late afternoon and evening. Not that it mattered, most of the country would be staying up for New Years anyway, and the streets were already lined with festivities. In the bustle of the crowd no one noticed as three men slipped through the throng of people just to enter an old antique shop. Walking through the hallways, Tom noticed that the place seemed to be less busy than usual, and threw suspicious glances at the two soldiers who were trying their best to look innocent (but failing).

Sighing, Tom shrunk his trunk and placed it in his mokeskin pouch. He might as well get this over with. Steady footsteps brought him to the door of the break room, which he noted was dark and quiet. Tom could practically feel the anticipation emanating from Steve and Bucky behind him and paused, causing the two soldiers to groan and step in front of him, throwing their arms around his shoulders as they did so. With a synchronized push, the doors opened, and Tom was assaulted with light, color, and noise.

“Surprise!” came the voice of many as they burst from behind the table, “Happy Birthday, Tom!”

A bright flash lit up in his face as the wizard schooled his face into a blank look (which he hoped had happened before the camera shutter). When the light spots stopped dancing in his eyes, it was revealed that the culprit with the camera was none other than a cheekily grinning Howard Stark.

Tom looked out at the crowd gathered for him. There was, of course, Steve and Bucky (the gits), who wore matching goofy grins on their faces. The rest of the Howling Comnandos were also gathered, popping the caps of beer bottles and letting the liquid flow out in some sort of rite (that he was _sure_ the Gryffindors back at Hogwarts did whenever they won a Quidditch game). Unsurprisingly, both Howard and Peggy had also joined in on the fun, coming over and giving him a brief hug (Stark) and a hand on the shoulder (Carter).

However, it wasn’t just muggles that had decided to show up. Smiling at all the festivities was Monty and Euphemia, dressed rather expertly in casual muggle clothing. ‘Feemie’ was laughing at something the young Ravnclaw graduate, Nobby Leach, had said. The bartender must have gotten another to cover his shift at the Leaky Pot, and considering how this was to be one of the busiest nights, it couldn’t have been easy.

All of them were standing around the break table, which had been covered with a green cloth; not that one could see it under all the food piled atop it. A cake stood in the middle of it all, eighteen candles arranged in a circle inside the green icing rim, the flames flickering with all the bustling around it. The cake was moved to the area in front of the chair that was generally reserved for Captain America, and it was Steve who pulled out the chair and looked at Tom meaningfully. Rolling his eyes, Tom dutifully and elegantly sat in the chair, the thought of such a throne briefly passing through his mind as he did so. The thought was quickly replaced by the sight of all of the people who gathered around behind him, causing Tom to stare at them in confusion before his eyes registered the camera mounted on a stand in front of him.

The only thing Tom’s body could come up with in reply was a single eyebrow raising. Steve and Bucky threw their arms around the genuinely surprised young wizard as Howard messed with his hair, pressing a button in his hand that had a wire connecting it to the camera. It took all of Tom’s self discipline not to blink or wince at the bright flash that followed, though he was much better prepared for this one and allowed himself a small, real smile.

With a toast of tankards of both magical and muggle beverages, the party began. Food disappeared rapidly into the stomachs of soldiers, Dum Dum being the main culprit. As usual, Bucky’s ears shot out steam as the firewhisky took effect, making everyone laugh aloud. Soon packages wrapped in old newspaper were placed in front of him, and Tom had stared at them blankly until Howard had made a comment about ‘Oliver Twist not getting gifts a lot’ before he got the hint. Carefully he unwrapped each present, smirking at the groans of his friends as he did so.

From Peggy (and the SSR) he got his own revolver with the words _Avada Kedavra_ engraved on the barrel. Quirking an eyebrow to the Agent she simply gave him a smirk.

“If you ever lose your wand, I’m sure this simple firearm will be able to protect you until you find yourself another.” was her only reply, “And since it’s primary use is to kill, I thought the engraving fitting.”

From Leach (who was trying not to laugh through the opening process) was a rubber snake. And no, it wasn’t enchanted or anything special, just a little rubber snake that looked much like Jormungand. Tom responded to this gift by chucking it at the howling bartender.

The Commandos (sans Bucky and Tom himself) had pitched in to buy him a silver pocket watch. Morita had explained that it was because:

“Out of all the crazy things you Wizards know how to do, telling time isn’t one of them.”

Incidentally, the back of the watch had the word _Tempus_ , the Latin word for time, engraved on it.

Coming along the same vein, he would find, was Bucky, who had gifted him a lighter with the spell name _Fiendfyre_ etched on it. Bucky raised his hands in surrender at the mock look of betrayal on Tom’s face before bursting out laughing.

“What?” he argued, “I thought I was being smart and funny! Didn’t know everyone and their brother got the same idea!”

Trepidatiously he opened Howard’s gift, and gave him a curious stare.

“I thought you needed an upgrade.”

The modified black gas mask that was attributed to Lord Voldemort now had glowing blue veins running up and down the canisters. The eyepieces were larger, and there seemed to be some device hidden right above the mouthpiece.

“Those little guys project a distortion,” Howard explained, “Should help hide that voice of yours. Unlike Cap here, I know you prefer to stick to the shadows.”

A noise of disagreement came from Steve’s direction, but the scientist paid it no heed. Shrugging off the inventor’s jab, the blond supersoldier walked up to Tom and handed him a rolled up piece of paper wrapped with a string. Unfurling the paper revealed a detailed sketch of Tom in uniform (sans the mask) standing between Steve and Bucky. Unlike most photographs, the drawing depicted all three of them with arms slung around their shoulders and viably laughing hard. When the others tried to get a look at the sketch, Tom rolled it back up again, placed it carefully into his mokeskin pouch, and gave Steve a pointed look.

“Nobody outside is to see this.” he said in a low, dangerous tone.

Steve smiled, having already gotten used to the young wizard’s quirks, and took it for the compliment it was.

Lastly came the Potters, who held a box wrapped in a red and gold paper (damned Gryffindors) up to him. For some reason, they looked a little nervous. Quirking and eyebrow at them, Tom carefully unwrapped the gift. When his brain finally caught up to what his eyes were seeing, both eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Are you... sure about this?” was all he could whisper as his fingers felt the fabric.

For, in the box, was undoubtedly Potter’s Invisibility Cloak, the Cloak Of Ignotus. With wide blue eyes Tom took in the sight of such a powerful artifact lying innocently in the box before directing those eyes at the Potter couple. A sigh escaped from Monty, a little proud, a little sad. Two hands placed themselves on his shoulders.

“You must understand, then, what this Cloak is.” Monty began, “Yes, the Potter tradition is to pass this on to my eldest son. But I have no sons, nor daughters, and not for a lack of trying. The closest I’ve ever come to having a son is you, Tom. And with the way you put yourself into constant danger for our sakes, I find it fitting that you should be the one to inherit it.”

Tom was silent, standing still as he tried to process the man’s words. Yes, they had been close these past few months, but surely not enough to be given such an artifact...

“Thank you.” were his quiet words, clutching the second Deathly Hallow as of to prove to himself that it was there, that it was _his_ , and soon he was engulfed in a hug from the middle aged couple.

With such color and joy around him, Tom couldn’t help but think of the grey and sadness of the place he had only been to hours before. Perhaps Steve was right. Today marked a new day for him, and such a vibrant new beginning it was.


	12. Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inflicted on the body, inflicted on the mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to leave Kudos and Comment!

Atop a snow covered ledge, blue eyes scanned the train tracks in mountainside below. A deep plunge awaited anyone who lost their footing, but for Tom, that fear was slightly alleviated by the fact that he had his Moontrimmer in his hand. Other than the sound of the rushing wind was the faint chatter of German, coming from the large radio that Gabe Jones and Jim Morita were listening in on. It was down to waiting again, something that Tom had gotten used to.

Through some intercepted radio chatter a week before, the Commandos had found out that one of Schmidt’s top scientists, Arnim Zola, was needed at the last HYDRA facility - the headquarters. Since they had no idea where the headquarters were, all they had to go on was the fact that he would be arriving by train. For a few days they had worked to try to pinpoint the exact railway Zola would be using, as the HYDRA scientist, according to Steve, was not the type to ride public transport.

Their efforts were doubled after the Leaky Pot was bombed.

Fortunately, Nobby Leach had not been killed in the blast, though he had sustained heavy injuries. Due to the muggle nature of the attack, it could be deduced that it was HYDRA, not Grindelwald, who had orchestrated it. The members of the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley were still afraid to break the Statute of Secrecy, and so many of the patrons that had gone there were left to die. This had incensed Tom, who had rushed to the scene as fast as he could. With the help of Monty and Feemie he managed to heal those who would have otherwise died, but had been too late to save others. Tom was thankful for the Potioneer and Mediwitch’s help, their expertise had been what saved Nobby’s life, but his anger was now directed towards those too cowardly to help even their neighbors from harm simply because they didn’t have magic.

With rage simmering below the surface, he had calmly marched into the Auror Department and asked why they had done nothing in the face of the London bombings. He had received (from a rather bored-looking deskwitch) that the Aurors were far too busy taking care of the Wizarding World’s problems to worry about a few muggles. Tom had (gritting his teeth to prevent him from raising his voice) explained that a few muggleborn had been caught in the blast, and the woman had simply scoffed at him, commenting (more to herself) that it was their fault for being around muggles during the attack.

“The last time I checked.” he had then ground out, “Grindelwald’s forces haven’t been active since the fall of Nurmengard, only light skirmishes. What then have your Auror’s been doing other than sitting on their arses and twiddling their thumbs?”

The deskwitch’s expression had grown indignant, but her outburst was cut off by another voice.

“Absolutely nothing, unfortunately.”

Tom had turned around to see a young man around his own age, dressed in the Auror Trainee uniform, blond hair curling in tufts. Not at all bad looking, though there was a scar across his left cheek. The man behind Lord Voldemort searched his memories for the man’s identity, as his face looked rather familiar. It was from Nobby’s class photo album, and Tom himself remembered him as the Head of the Dueling Club.

“Alastor Moody.” Tom greeted, “What a surprise to see you.”

The Auror in training had snorted at the wizard’s formal tone, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he had pressed forward with his own question.

“I hear Nobby’s been injured in the blast?”

He sensed some genuine worry from the young Auror Trainee. _Ah yes_ , Tom thought, _those two would have been dormmates back at Hogwarts_.

“Yes.” Tom replied, “No thanks to you.”

Instead of being affronted, Moody had taken Tom into another room. There the Auror Trainee had explained to him that Auror’s weren’t notified of the blast until after the bodies had been moved. They had not wanted the earnest fighters to have gotten involved in the war. Moody was very close to graduating Auror Training, and would soon be able to go out on his own missions, but until then, he was stuck to listening for scraps of information and unable to do anything with it.

“But you would be able to get that information, wouldn’t you Riddle?” Moody had grunted, “Being Lord Voldemort and all. And don’t be so surprised, you have very specific mannerisms that anyone who actually paid attention to you would notice. So why don’t we make a deal. You give me the information on attacks in the muggle world, and I help you keep tabs on that pesky Dark Lord.”

The fact that the Auror Trainee had known Tom’s masked identity had caught Tom off guard, but Moody (being as close to a Slytherin as a Ravenclaw could get) had always been the perceptive one. He was paranoid, and saw most anyone as an enemy (including especially the Heir of Slytherin). It did him well, it seemed. Tom had left the Auror Department with a new ally and a renewed determination to change the Wizarding World from the backwards, blind way it was now.

Two days later, and Tom was getting missives on the movements of Grindelwald, courtesy of his new Auror friend. It was this information that allowed them to find the train line hidden within the Alps. If HYDRA was going to use a train line, it would be this one. And if Grindelwald’s forces were still working with Schmidt, then capturing Zola and any followers were their top priority.

So now here they were, in the frozen heights of the Alps, waiting for the train to arrive.

To pass the time Tom began to sketch an image (as Steve had been recently gotten him back into drawing with his present) of the comrades in front of him in his diary (which still held his horcrux), making sure the cigarette end didn’t accidentally drop embers on his work. Bucky, the unknowing subject, was standing near the edge of the ledge, hand casually clasped around the zip line that spanned the distance between the peak they were on and the next, going right over the tracks. He, like everyone else, was bundled up for the mountain cold.

Well, everyone except Tom, who had been rather immune to the cold as of late. The biting frost seemed to have no effect on the young wizard, much to the confusion of his friends. Howard had theorized that whatever it was, this new cold tolerance was connected to his ever-growing height. Tom had now surpassed Steve (who towered over everyone as it was) by nearly half a head, and the growth hadn’t stopped as of yet.

Granted, he wasn’t as bulky as his Captain, looking more like a beanstalk as opposed to Steve’s ‘beefcake’ (as Howard had put it, which had required a rather embarrassing explanation on the scientist’s part after Tom failed to understand the comparison). Thankfully all the physical exertion from being in the Howling Commandos had put his muscle tone on par with Bucky, which meant that while he still appeared to be a black clad beanstalk, it was a beanstalk that could slam a man’s body straight through a brick wall (or at least, that’s what Gabe had told him).

Steve had joined Bucky at the ledge, looking off at the end of the zip line. He had taken the physical changes rather well. In fact, if anything, it was almost as if he were relieved that he wasn’t the only one to go through a ‘serum-type’ growth. Now that Tom himself gone through (though his was more gradual than Steve’s sudden transformation) something similar, the Captain had begun to share some experiences he had post-transformation as if to warn Tom of impending social changes.

“Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?” the brunet asked, almost wryly, looking out onto the tracks below.

Finishing his brief sketch, Tom returned the diary back to his mokeskin pouch, content to watch the interaction of his friends. While he may be close to Steve and Bucky, the two of them shared a much deeper history than he could ever have with either of them. Even so, they never excluded Tom from such conversations, often explaining to the young wizard the various places and experiences from their very own Brooklyn, New York.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, not turning to see his oldest friend, simply gazing in the same direction, “and I threw up?”

He had learned about theme parks and hot dog stands and baseball games. But Tom wasn’t an idealist. Places are simply areas of generally neutral emotion, as it is the experiences forged there that give one a more positive or negative outlook on it. Perhaps New York would only be wonderful if Bucky and Steve were there to show him.

“This isn’t payback, is it?” continued Bucky, his voice wry.

They had promised, of course, to take him there once the war was over to show him what he was missing out on living in England. Well, more like insisted, though Tom had easily caved once the two soldiers had gave him a look akin to puppy dog eyes. The young wizard watched as Steve turned to Bucky with a cheeky smile upon his face.

“Now why would I do that?” was his answer, his tone betraying that this _might_ , in fact, be payback.

Even with such things to look forward to, Tom was worried. Grindelwald had almost disappeared sine the fall of Nurmengard, but he doubted the Dark Lord was being idle. This was the same man who killed and masqueraded as the Director of Magical Security in the 1920s. No, he was most likely hiding his time somewhere, planning something large behind the scenes to make up for the destruction of his fortress.

“We were right.” suddenly came the voice of Gabe, who took off the earphones from around his neck, “Dr. Zola's on the train. HYDRA dispatcher gave him permission to open up the throttle. Wherever he's going, they must need him bad.”

The question now was, where was he? At any point, an unaccounted for Dark Lord was highly dangerous, especially since his movements can only be tracked through his followers and not to the man himself. At least with Johann Schmidt, it was known he was hiding in his own fortress, even if the fortress hasn’t been found yet. But Grindelwald’s true location was a mystery, allowing the Dark Lord to get closer to his goal the longer he stayed underground.

And if he was on the train with Zola...

“Let's get going, because they're moving like the devil.” quipped Falsworth, peering through his binoculars into the distance before going to prepare with the others.

Indeed, the train was chugging along faster than any rail locomotive he’s ever seen (but then again, he was used to the steam train of the Hogwarts Express). It twisted and turned along the mountain like a black snake, which did little to put him at ease. This was, after all, not a snake he could control.

“We only got about a 10-second window.” Steve said in his leader voice, “You miss that window, we're bugs on a windshield.”

Staring at the fast moving train and doing the mental math himself, Tom could see that his Captain was right. Not that he needed to worry about it. He would be flying there, though he too needed to time it precisely to avoid missing the train. His broom had nothing on this speeding bullet of a train.

“Mind the gap.” Falsworth snarked out, making most of them smile briefly.

Hopefully with the capture of Zola, they would be able to track down Schmidt. Hopefully with Tom there, Grindelwald will fall. Tom chanted this in his head as they all prepared to descend onto the oncoming locomotive.

“Better get moving, bugs!” came the booming voice of Dum Dum, a wide smile on his face.

Tom placed his mask over his face, turning it on with a twist of the right canister. Immediately blobs of blue began to appear on his vision, detecting magical-type energy signatures. While most of the train was transporting rather concentrated amounts what he would assume were boxes (judging by the organized and muted manner of which they glowed), on either side of the train were anomalies.

“There are two main sources of magic.” Tom explained as he began to mount his broom, “If my readings are correct, there should be wizard’s holed up in the back. However there is also a large concentration of energy in the front, so be careful.”

He was rewarded with a slap on the back from Bucky, who grinned and attached himself to the zip line. The brunet’s eyes almost glittered with energy, revved up on a high and ready for action.

“Then go beat up some wizards, Tom!” he said above the roar of the train, “We’ll take care of the punks in the cockpit and go out for drinks after!”

With a salute and a nod, Tom mounted his broom and kicked off. The wind rushed all around him as he bolted towards the speeding train, his ears barely able to pick up Dernier’s shout of “Maintenant!” before Steve, Bucky, and Gabe slid down the zip line. All four soldiers landed on the train at the same time, though Tom timed his landing so that he ended up near the caboose. Just as Tom made his way into the final car in the line, a wave of unease passed through Tom, who shivered despite feeling no cold.

He didn’t have to dwell on the feeling, however, as his mask picked up high levels of magical energy on the other side of the door. Now that he was closer, he could tell that yes, there were indeed wizards inside the cart, but none of them had the last Hallow on their person, which meant that Grindelwald was not among them.

Even so, Tom activated the Shield of Loki and hid under the Cloak of Ignotus, making his way inside the train car. The wizards congregated there seemed to be on high alert, their eyes shifting everywhere, wands in hand. They were waiting for something, or someone. The young wizard decided to do something he had seen Dum Dum do quite a bit - he let out a short high pitched whistle to get their attention before knocking out the closest follower with his shield and letting loose a barrage of spellfire.

Tom dove into the fray with gusto, his shield acting as an offense as well as a defense as he dueled the score of wizards inside the rather empty car. Spells and curses of all kinds bounced off the walls, most of them aimed towards him initially. Such a thing did not deter the Howling Commando known as Lord Voldemort, whose wand and shield downed the wizards with his rapid fire casting.

“Expelliarmus!” One of Grindelwald’s followers shouted, and the spell flew true, knocking Tom’s yew wand out of his hand, and catching it in his own.

For a brief moment, Tom saw the relief on the wizards’ faces. He was disarmed, and could no longer cast spells. The wizard who had his wand began to taunt him as the followers began to cast with more gusto, confident that they were now winning against the infamous Lord Voldemort. Using his shield, Tom was able to avoid most of the curses, crouching down in the corner for more protection. His posture depicted that of someone who was tiring, and the jeering from the wizards became more pronounced.

 _The fools_ , he thought with a hidden grin.

From his boot Tom drew a silver barreled revolver, the one Peggy had given him. Aiming for the one who seemed to have become the leader (and incidentally, the same wizard who had taken his wand), he allowed himself a crooked smile, confusing his enemies with his actions.

“Avada Kedavra.” Lord Voldemort whispered to himself, pulling the trigger.

The first wizard went down, taking a bullet right to the forehead. This elicited shock and horror as the wizards realized this was a non-magical variant of the weapons HYDRA carried, and immediately began to attack in a frenzy, fear returning to them as gunshots rang out in the carriage that was slowly filling with the bodies of their fallen comrades. He managed to reach the body of the wizard who had stolen his wand without alerting the other wizards of his intentions. Once the other five bullets were spent, Tom barrel rolled over the body, swiftly retrieving his wand. Snapping the revolver back in its holster (and putting down a note in his mind to thank Peggy for it later), Sergeant Riddle began to cast once more.

Once more he was on the advantage, curses flying from his wand at a rapid pace (he had mastered silent casting under Monty’s tutelage, and was getting better at the wandless variety), hitting their targets most of the time. By the time he exhausted himself and hid behind his shield again, only four wizards remained alive from the original twenty. However, these four had survived not by luck, but by skill. With desperation burning in their eyes they became more wild with their casting, curses ricocheting off the walls of the train, one powerful Bombarda causing part of the wall to give way, and the wind began to howl in their ears.

Using this to his advantage Tom managed to herd two of the wizards near the hole the blasting curse had created, banishing them into the mountain’s side, carried by the wind. Narrowly he managed to shield himself from the curse aiming for him, rolling to the other side of the car to make sure he didn’t befall the same fate. The duel continued, the remaining two wizards giving it everything they had, shouting obscenities at him as they fought.

“To think that a wizard would go so low as to work with muggles.” one sneered, “Do you have any pride?”

Tom blocked the oncoming blood boiling curse with his shield, and narrowly dodged the bone breaker with a barrel roll. A wry smile bloomed on his face. Ah, such irony.

“If that is so, why are you working with HYDRA?” Lord Voldemort taunted back, “Is your hypocrisy only allowed when it’s to further your means?”

This seemed to incense the wizards further, and if anything, their curses become more dangerous. Soon Unforgivables (why had it taken them so long to use those? Or was Tom simply more immoral for using them off the bat?) were being flung at him, and the youngest Commando thanked whatever deity was watching over him that the shield was upgraded to block them. Sergeant Riddle pushed forward, his shield taking the brunt of the spells.

The fact that his shield could block Unforgivables made the wizards pause and gape briefly, which was the opening Tom needed to fire back. His yew wand spat out green light, killing curses aiming towards the last wizards standing. With two solemn thuds, Lord Voldemort became the victor of the skirmish.

Sighing heavily, Tom retracted the Shield Of Loki, looking around at the carnage he had wrought. Why would wizards get on a muggle locomotive if they could ride brooms? The only reason would have been to act as a security detail to Grindelwald, but the Dark Lord was nowhere to be seen, or even detected. Tom’s mask picked up no signature that could match the Wand of Antioch, and he highly doubted Grindelwald would part with such an artifact.

So then, why were the other wizards here? Surely the Dark Lord would have accompanied Zola, who would in turn take him to Schmidt? His fortress had already been destroyed, where else was he to go? Unless, of course, Grindelwald was already at HYDRA headquarters. But then if that was the case, why did his followers not simply Apparate to the last HYDRA base? Why have the, stationed here on the train, waiting for Tom’s arrival?

Unless...

Tom’s breathe hitched as his mind whirred and finally came up with the disturbing conclusion.

This was a trap.

“Crucio!” came a voice from behind, and Tom’s world exploded in pain.

Dropping to the ground, his arms and legs refusing to work, Tom noticed one of the downed wizards pointing his wand at him. He must have been knocked out during the fight, and had just regained consciousness. Through the searing pain that now coursed his body, Tom realized that he recognized this man.

“And so falls the great Lord Voldemort.” came the drawling voice that Tom remembered from his Hogwarts days.

Straining to move from the pain, Sergeant Riddle rolled to his side as he regarded the man with surprise, not that anyone could see under the dark mask. He watched as the wizard moved closer, his wand still training on his writhing body, making sure the spell continued.

“Not so mighty _now_ , are you, _Riddle_?” Mulciber sneered out, kicking off Tom’s helmet and revealing a face twisted in pain.

Of bloody course. He had graduated a year earlier, much like Lestrange and Dolohov, so he would know all about Tom’s past. Even through the curse leveled on him, Tom managed to shoot a scathing glare at the sneering wizard. Mulciber paid him no heed, toeing the helmet off the moving train, where it disappeared into the rushing wind. A boot was soon on Sergeant Riddle’s chest as the Slytherin graduate kept his wand pointed at him, keeping him from moving.

“You could have been great. You know that, Lord Voldemort?” The name was spat out with such hatred, and Tom could hear the betrayal lacing his voice, “You could have been stronger, more powerful than even Lord Grindelwald! But no, for some insane, Merlin forsaken reason, you turned your back on wizardkind and chose them!”

Rage. Hurt. The voice of a man who had lost someone he thought was a friend. The voice of a man who trusted in a false doctrine of prejudice and hate. What is it that made brother turn on brother? A sense of righteousness, of justice. With warring sides, it was difficult to see which one was right, or if there was a right. Pain continued to course through him as Tom felt the rage from the wizard on top of him pour into his body. He knew it could only have been a minute, and that the armor he currently had on him was absorbing the majority of the curse, but it was still becoming increasingly unbearable. A scream ripped from his throat unbidden.

“You turned you back on you own kind!” Mulciber wailed (for that’s what it was, a cry of anguish) above Tom’s own screams, “You, who understood the purity of blood, have become the very beast you promised to slay!”

To Mulciber, Tom had turned evil, had turned into a monster. But such a notion was laughable. For Tom Riddle was born a monster and raised a monster (and is still a monster, hiding behind a mask and shield, behind reasons like sentiment and freedom).

“Any last words, blood traitor?” shouted Mulciber, almost manically.

Tom Riddle, or any moniker he chose to go under, will always be a monster, no matter what side he was on. Perhaps it was in his nature to be evil. Beneath the anguish of the Cruciatus Curse, Tom felt his mind starting to slip away. _Monster_ , it cried, _pain upon you, who caused unimaginable suffering. You deserve this. You deserve to die in agony, unloved and unloving._

And yet, if that was true...

_I don’t like bullies, no matter where they come from._

Why did a Sergeant wrap his arms around his shoulders? Why did a Captain draw him smiling? Why did soldiers toast with him? Why did an inventor throw him a party? Why did a Potter give him an artifact meant for his heir? Why did they love him? How could they love a monster like him?

“Go to Hell!” Tom managed to force out through clenched teeth, blue eyes flashing defiantly as something stirred within them.

Because that was what Love was. Love was accepting the flaws of one’s character while promoting the growth of one’s strengths. It was seeing the light that still shined in a soul hurling towards darkness. It was opening your heart to a wounded soul and trusting in it not to let you down, and forgiving them when they do. Love was patience and sentiment and the certainty that no matter what, they always had your back.

From deep within his magical core he called upon a power he didn’t know was there, something that been awakening slowly since the creation of the Shield of Loki. Mulciber’s eyes widened as changes began to ripple through Tom, unbeknownst to the soldier himself. Blue eyes turned into crimson red, glowing eerily with barely suppressed magic. Pale porcelain skin began to turn an unnatural shade of blue.

This sudden change broke the wizard’s concentration on the torturing curse, and allowed Tom’s mind to snap back after the painful assault. From within the wells of this untapped energy, Tom willed for it to strike. An ice spike spot from the ground, impaling Mulciber’s wand arm. The howl that ripped from the man was cut short by the sound of a flying shield crashing into his head. The strange power that thrummed within him retracted, their purpose complete as Tom regarded the flying red, white, and blue shield with confusion and relief.

The steady thumping of boots to metal, however, made Tom squint as his mind (slightly foggy from the curse) tried to figure out what was wrong with the picture. A haggard looking Captain America ran into the room, passing his shield that laid innocently next to the wizard that it had knocked out, and kneeling in front of Tom’s lying form.

“Just in time, Captain.” Sergeant Riddle groaned out, “Wasn’t sure if I could hold out for much longer.”

Steve looked incredibly relieved to see Tom, weak as he was, and gave an almost broken laugh as he helped the young wizard sit up. There was something wrong, but the fog in Tom’s mind wouldn’t lift, even as it registered the fact that Steve was practically cradling him. Awkwardly he patted the man’s face, his blue eyes having trouble focusing in any one place for too long. What was wrong with this picture? What was wrong with him?

“I’m sorry Tom...” the wizard heard the Captain whisper from above him, feeling Steve’s hold tighten, “We’re gonna get you outta here.”

What a ridiculous thing, apologizing to him when he had done nothing wrong. Silly Steve. Perhaps he should talk to Bucky about fixing that habit of his. A shift in weight, and he felt his head resting on the shoulder of his Captain, and the lack of support in certain areas told him that he was being carried by the American Supersoldier. Sure, he was lighter than the others, but being carried bridal style was embarrassing.

“I’m fine, Steve.” Tom murmured in an attempt to placate the man, “A good night’s sleep and I’m sure I’ll be as good as new. If anything, I should be sorry, I didn’t realize it was a trap...”

He was rambling, did he usually ramble? Tom attempted to move, but realized that the curse had made him rather weak. A haze was growing in his mind. Drops of wetness fell on his pale face, something that Tom had no difficulty in pinpointing where they were coming from.

“Steve?” the young wizard managed out before the mist began to cloud his consciousness, “Steve, you’re crying. Why... are you crying?”

His head drooped, resting itself on his Captain’s shoulder as his eyes fluttered closed, the lids too tired to stay open. He was becoming delirious, and he was too exhausted to stop it. Voices. Shouting. Movement. The steady chugging of the train slowing, stopping. The exchange of hands. The whir of a motorcycle. The hum of the plane. Muttering. A broken sob.

Darkness.

* * *

Blue eyes opened to a white ceiling, the sound of people and technology filling his senses. Flexing his hands, Tom realized he had regained some strength in his limbs, and used them to sit himself up on the cot he was placed in. Looking around, he noticed that he was in the SSR Med Bay, a common sight to him for the past year. Sitting in a chair next to him was Steve, who had nodded off at some point while keeping him company. The man looked exhausted, and Tom noted the presence of tear tracks on his face. The shifting of Tom’s body seemed to wake him, however, and soon Steve was looking at him with visible relief.

“Glad to see you’re awake.” his Captain said, his voice slightly hoarse, “For a while there Monty and Fee thought you weren’t going to make it.”

A groan escaped Tom’s throat. The Potters were incredibly skilled in the art of Healing. If they thought that he was on the brink of death, then they were probably right. However, nobody knew about the soul shard imbedded in his diary should he perish, about the anchor to the mortal plane that he had created in a fit of madness and fear.

“I suppose I may have... been a little careless, yes.” Tom replied slowly, a sigh releasing with his words, “But I’m sure that with rest I will be able to return to my duties. I’m feeling stronger already.”

To prove his point, Tom shifted so that his legs hung over the side of the bed. With a grunt, he tried to stand up, only to find that his legs were still weak, and fell back on the cot with a _thud_.

“Alright,” Tom grumbled out, “Not as strong as I had hoped, but most definitely strong enough for the drinks that Bucky promised we’d get now that the bloody mission’s over with.”

A weak chuckle escaped from Steve, but it was lined with a heavy amount of grief. The American stared at Tom with despair in his eyes, and the Sergeant felt as if a stone had lodged itself in his stomach. That look was similar to the ones Myrtle’s parents wore when...

“Tom... there’s something that you...should...” Steve tried to say, before a broken, choking sound came from his throat, “Buck... Buck didn’t make it.”

Silence. And yet Tom felt like there was a pressure there. A kind of noise within the awful quiet, like silent screaming.

“How?” Tom asked blandly, his mind trying to catch up with words that made no sense.

“There was a HYDRA soldier waiting for us.” Steve began in a similarly empty voice, as if he himself couldn’t believe it, “Zola must’ve enhanced the suit he wore and... he blew a hole in the train car. Buck... Buck was blown out... I tried to grab his hand but...” the soldier could say no more, overwhelmed by his own grief.

The stone in his stomach grew in weight until it became nigh unbearable, the truth of Steve’s words (for he could never lie, especially about something like this) ringing hollowly in his head. Unbeknownst to Tom, everything in the Med Bay began to shudder as the pressure he felt continued to grow. Breaths became short and panicked, whispering a single word over and over again.

_No...no...no...no...no..._

The shuddering of the objects in the Med Bay were now shaking violently under the onslaught of energy pouring from Tom’s being. Lights were blinking on and off with the vigor of a poltergeist. Faces flashed before his eyes, faces of a man who couldn’t be dead, no, _he couldn’t be dead!_

A scream of rage. Of hurt. Of sorrow.

Curtains bent out of shape, vases shattered, and beds that had been levitating crashed back down on the floor. Steve was in too much shock to even notice, or, most likely, he had expected this reaction. It took a good few minutes for Tom’s wild emotions to lesson into a simmering rage, hot tears distorting his sight.

_He should have known the train was a trap. Zola was not going to be handed to them on a silver platter. If only he had questioned the placements of the wizards at the back, perhaps he would have been able to use his broom and..._

Tom didn’t know who initiated it, but before he was fully aware of what was happening, both men were clutching each other like a lifeline. Broken sobs came from both men, uncaring if such a thing was unsightly or awkward or strange. _It should have been me_ , one could almost hear them say. For what felt like hours they stayed like this, pouring out their grief of a man they considered family. It was how Euphemia Potter found them, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. The Mediwitch waited until the two soldiers (more alike now than ever) untangled themselves from the other, and began her diagnosis. It seemed almost irrelevant in the face of such news.

“You’ve sustained severe magical exhaustion.” Lady Potter murmured, “But it seems to be replenishing itself. You should be well in a day or so.”

There was something in her voice that told Tom she wasn’t telling him everything, but right now he didn’t give a damn. He nodded in affirmation to the woman that had become his mother figure, unable to say anything without sounding insulting or venomous. The witch, giving them an empathetic look, distributed another dose of healing potions before leaving Tom and Steve alone in the Med Bay once more.

Two hours later found the two in what was left of the Leaky Pot, each nursing a tankard of the strongest drink they could find (though neither of them seemed to be able to become inebriated). It had taken a while to get there due to Tom’s use of crutches in order to support himself, but they managed to reach the desolate building in silence. Some rummaging and a Accio or five had led them to their places now, sitting in silence as each of them brooded upon their friend’s death, blaming themselves. A radio played from the barely intact bar, broadcasting the news of a blackout in the area.

Tom was debriefed by his Captain on the other side of the mission. Zola had been captured, though not without putting up a fight. Mulciber was alive and in custody, currently bellowing in fear and rage from the inside of a close-room cell, a Wizard Trap placed on the door. Apparently he was horrified by the fact that they had found a way to deprive him of magic. Tom felt a brief flare of vindictive glee at that, and for the fact that a man he called his family hadn’t died in vain. Hopefully they would get some answers on the whereabouts of Schmidt and Grindelwald, but for now all they could do was sit tight and wait for the news. In the meantime, they sat in relative silence, wallowing in themselves.

Which was how Peggy found them, following the sound of the reporter’s voice. It was evident she was feeling the weight of the loss as well, but like she always seemed to do, she pulled herself together rather quickly. Perhaps it had something to do with how her brother died. Steve poured Tom and himself another drink, the wizard nodding mutely in greeting and thanks.

“Dr. Erskine said that...” Steve began, looking into his drink, “the serum wouldn't just effect my muscles, it would effect my cells. Create a protective system of regeneration and healing. Which means um... I can't get drunk. Did you know that?”

Tom did, only because he was experiencing the same symptoms, but the youngest Sergeant knew that the question wasn’t for him. It was for the woman that Steve had developed a bond with, the woman that he loved (not like he loved Tom or Bucky, but the kind Tom knew he could never experience).

“Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person.” was her answer, “He thought it could be one of the side effects.”

How painful it was to know that Steve had lost a father figure in the German Scientist. Was there a reason that so many that the man cared about perished? Or were they all simply casualties of war?

“It wasn’t your fault.” said Peggy, voice soft yet firm, seemingly to the both of them.

But Tom kept running scenarios through his head, trying to save Bucky, at least in his mind. Perhaps had he been with them on the train and ignored the score of wizards in the back (but how was he to know it was a trap?), or if he had caught Mulciber trying to Crucio him and made it in time (but he wasn’t invincible, despite his abilities).

“Did you read the reports?” came Steve’s dry voice.

Tom stared into space, unblinking, as he attempted to find a way to prove that yes, it was possible that Bucky could have walked out of this alive. His mind was no longer whirring. It was chugging like a steam train, clunky, slow.

“Yes.” was Peggy’s short answer.

It must be because he was in mourning, Tom mildly thought once he took notice of his distant gazing. And yet, did he space out so much when Nagini was killed? He didn’t remember it as such, only rage and a desperate need for revenge.

“Then you know that's not true.” Steve replied with self loathing evident in his voice.

That anger and vengeful feeling resurfaced, snapping him out of the fog that he was in. It wasn’t Steve’s fault, it could never be Steve’s fault. Steve, who always tried to do what was right. Steve, who knew Bucky longer, cared for him as deeply (and deeper still) as Tom did.

“You did everything you could.” Peggy told him, “Did you believe in your friend? Did you respect him?”

Both men turned to her, silently conveying how much that was true.

“Then stop blaming yourself.” she continued, “Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it.”

And there it was. The fire in Steve’s eyes ignited as a new kind of resolution formed itself. As if to say that the time for wallowing in misery was over, both men stood up from their seats, their drinks forgotten.

“I'm goin' after Schmidt.” Captain America proclaimed in a voice that allowed no argument, “I'm not gonna stop till all of Hydra is dead or captured.”

Tom placed a hand on his Captain’s shoulder, squeezing it, a silent pledge to follow him to the end of the line.

“You won’t be alone.” intoned Peggy, her words their own pledge.

Steve turned to them and gave each a nod of approval, knowing full well that both were willing to follow him into the jaws of hell for him, for Bucky, for the world. The fire burning within them would drive them to victory, of this Tom was sure. He would make sure that Bucky’s sacrifice was not in vain. He would send the message that no one could harm his friends and get away with it.

It was Lord Voldemort that marched beside Captain America and Agent Carter, ready to rain hell upon those who have wronged him.


	13. Heroism Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bravery, Strength, and a Tad bit of insanity. The mark of a Hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to give Kudos and Comment!

Howard Stark filed away another reel, sighing to himself. The news of Sergeant Barnes’ death had spread, and it casted a gloomy cloud on those close to Captain America and the Howling Commandos. Fingers brushed each reel case, meticulously labeled with either Sergeant Riddle’s elegant cursive handwriting or Howard’s own practical block handwriting. Some were on the weapons they had created together, some were mission logs, and some were Howard’s personal reels depicting the lives, shenanigans, and off-duty moments of the men (and woman) he called his friends. The sound of footsteps had Howard turning around to greet someone that had become a regular face around the laboratory.

“Hey Monty.”

The older wizard in question waved in what could be called a jovial manner, and Howard knew that the Potter Head was trying to keep morale high despite the loss everyone was feeling.

“Good afternoon, Howard.” the bespectacled wizard greeted, “Do you have a moment? There’s something I’d like to ask of you.”

There was something in the way that Monty was holding himself that told Howard (who was normally a very unobservant man) that whatever it was that the Potioneer wanted to say, it was important.

“Uh, sure, shoot.” replied the inventor, sitting down on one of the chairs.

Monty began by sitting down in another empty chair, his face betraying a kind of worry that made Howard’s stomach lurch. What could possibly cause the regularly relaxed wizard to worry? A sigh escaped from the man before he turned to face his lab partner fully with a serious expression.

“I need you to stop Tom from storming the headquarters with Captain Rogers.”

Howard blinked a rapidly a few times, his mind ticking away about the reason why Monty would ask such a thing. Especially now that they knew that Schmidt and Grindelwald were hiding in the headquarters together, the building buried deep inside the Alps. Tom had already sent word to his contact in the wizard police (Aurors, Tom had stressed when he had first explained them to Howard, lips twitching in fond exasperation. _That_ had been before the tragedy) and they were amassing forces to fight Grindelwald’s followers.

“Why?” asked the scientist, confusion written all over his features.

The inventor had seen the sheer determination that powered the Howling Commandos and their Captain, and it would be incredibly difficult to pull any of them away from the fight, especially someone as stubborn as Tom Marvolo Riddle. Not without good reason. Monty heaved another sigh, as if he didn’t want to talk about it, but felt that he must.

“His health, Howard.” the Potioneer answered, “I don’t think he’s... medically fit to join in on the fight. Not now.”

That was worrying, especially since the normally open Fleamont Potter was skirting around the subject. If it was Tom he would have let it be, the guy held his secrets close to his chest and it was a gift if he actually told you something straight.

“What’s wrong with him?” Howard pressed, “He’s already off his crutches thanks to you and Feemie. He’ll be in shape in time for the mission.”

Monty’s face turned fearful, stricken. He was twirling his wand in his hand, something that Howard initially found hilarious due to the fact that both resident wizards had the same nervous tick.

“It’s... not just one problem, I’m afraid.” Monty began, and Howard prepared himself for a explanation on another magic thing he didn’t know about, “Feemie ran some diagnostics on him and made a few... worrying finds. I assume you are aware of the three Unforgivables?”

Huh, that he did know. Tom used the ‘worst’ one a ton during the HYDRA raids with the special dispensation to kill as quickly and efficiently as possible.

“Yeah.” the inventor answered in confusion, “The one that kills, the one that tortures, and the one that turns you into a puppet.”

Monty nodded slowly, and continued.

“Correct. It seems that Tom was hit with the Cruciatus Curse, that is the ‘one that tortures’, as you said.” Howard winced at the implication, “What’s worse, it seems he was under it for nearly a full minute.”

At Howard’s still-confused look he elaborated.

“The Cruciatus Curse is known to instill the worse kind of torture known to wizards. In a scientific outlook, it stimulates all of your pain nerves without causing outward physical harm. Therefore, the effect of such a curse isn’t so much physical, but mental. Many who have stayed under the curse for more than a few seconds are prone to becoming unresponsive, depending on their mental stability and strength of will. It’s a miracle as it is that Tom isn’t a vegetable, thanks to the magic-dampening armor he wears, but even so I highly doubt he is without some sort of scarring. It could be something as small as the temporary blanking of the mind.”

The information Monty had dumped on him caused the inventor to think back to any interaction he had with the young wizard, and found that yes, Tom was acting a little spacey at times, but Howard had brushed it off as part of the guy’s grieving process.

“So what’s the other problem?” Howard asked, folding his hands under his chin.

But something like that wasn’t enough to stop Tom from fighting in the front. And why should it? The teen wizard didn’t space out all that much (though to be honest, it did weird Howard out to see him so unfocused), and it certainly didn’t hinder him from doing what needed to be done.

“Because of the speed of Tom’s recovery from the curse, as well as his rather intensive magical exhaustion, Feemie and I performed a test on his blood.” Monty explained, handing Howard some parchment that turned out to be a Wizarding medical report, “We found an abnormality. Part of his ancestry is not...human. And before you say that it could be because of his patronage to Loki since Salazar Slytherin himself had similar traits, we found a match. It is Jotunn, Frost Giant, buried dormant in his blood until it was awakened by his shield’s runic array. How it got there is beyond me, but it was buried deep enough to say that it spans quite a few generations. It is why Tom has been growing taller, and has gained a high tolerance to the cold and yes, even alcohol. It seems that on the train Tom managed to tap into the wild, untamed magic of his frost giant ancestry and exhausted himself. Magic is like a muscle, Howard, it gets stronger the more you use it. And like a muscle, you could harm yourself if you overexert yourself. If Tom tries to actively use this new energy instead of the accidental outburst on the train...”

“...he could kill himself by magic overload.” Howard finished grimly.

* * *

Ivory hands stroked the top of the black leather before opening it to reveal worn pages. Drawings and musings, pencil and ink. And yet, there was much about the diary that could not be seen by the naked eye. Like the fact that there was a soul shard imbedded in it, split from the whole by a murder of an innocent girl. It is now that he sees her pale figure in his mind, cold and stiff, wide eyed and unmoving.

Is that what Bucky looked like? Laying in the snow? Would there have been blood? They had yet to find his body, but still, a fall from that height left little hope for survival. Death used to scare Tom, who saw his own corpse when faced with a boggart. Now, it was not his own death he feared, but the death of his friends. One of which had already been realized. It terrified Tom that he should live while others should die. Was it punishment for his past crimes?

Arms held the small diary close to his chest, the thrum of the two half souls discordant, out of harmony. Blue eyes fluttered closed as Tom took a deep breath. He had precious few minutes to himself, so he had to make this count. He took his mind to those days before he joined the army, back when he still walked the halls of Hogwarts. As a prefect, his crimes, a murder most foul.

A girl, the first victim, crying because of the words of her classmates, wailing in one of the stalls where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets laid. Footsteps, his own, prowling inside, ignoring her sniffling and calling the denizen that lay beneath.

The second victim, Esmeralda the basilisk, placed under the school as a protective measure during the witchhunts back in the Founders’ era, a serpent whose friendship he had used for his own means. She had been slithering out of the pipes that lead to the outside, only to meet eyes with the girl that had gone to the sink to wash her tear stained face. Tom had been waiting around the corner to console the serpent, and told her that the cows he had stole for her were hidden in the back.

A third year student, the third victim, after the fear of the school shutting down, the terror that gripped him when he was faced with returning to Wool’s early, he had needed a scapegoat. When he had found the half giant boy hiding an Acromantula in his trunk, Tom had known he had found the perfect fool to take the fall. Never mind the fact that he was only thirteen, never mind the fact he was nothing but kind.

Three victims. One murder. One expelled. One cursed to live, hated, under the bowels of Hogwarts. All because Tom Riddle was hateful, prideful, vicious, selfish. He could hear the wails of Myrtle Warren’s parents, see the broken expression on Rubeus Hagrid’s face when his wand was snapped.

Emotions bubbled to the surface, ones that Tom had previously refused to acknowledge, and they hit the young soldier hard as the weight of his actions had finally crashed upon his shoulders. The Tom Riddle then had not cared about anyone but himself. The Tom Riddle now, however, cared quite a bit about the sins he committed and the people that had been affected by his crimes. Now, in the silence of the empty bunker, he allowed the tears to fall as emotions flooded him until he felt as if he were drowning in sorrow. In guilt. In complete, all consuming remorse.

The tears flowed from his face and dripped down into the black cover of the diary, the liquid soaking into the book like it did with ink when written by someone other than Tom himself. Against his chest, the pulsing he felt from the soul shard in the book began to become oddly erratic, as if in pain. Each tear drop full of emotion like acid, burning away the vileness that grew within the pages, purifying the evil that the shard carried with it. The dark magic that anchored the soul to the diary began to dissolve, freeing the horcrux from its prison.

For the first time in a long time, the two halves of the soul pulsed like a heartbeat, synchronized. Slowly, Tom released his hold on the diary, letting it fall onto his lap. A pair of pale, shaking hands opened the covers, and the pages flipped on their own, stopping at the center of the book. From within the core of the diary, a small glowing light rose from the worn pages, floating in front of the crying boy, pulsing quietly. It floated closer, like a wisp that could be blown away at the slightest breath. Tom wondered how his soul could possibly look so delicate. Innocent, even.

Tom sucked in a breath, and the soul shard followed with it, flying into his body via his throat (he had heard from classmates that the Dementor’s Kiss took the soul from the body through the mouth, he now understood why that was true). The shard shot straight into his core, colliding with the part of his soul that never left, melting and welding together so that they could become one once more. It felt like a miniature sun was blazing in his chest, burning him from the inside.

Until it all stopped, the pain and pressure and burning disappearing in a single heartbeat.

Blue eyes blinked three times, slowly, trying to understand what had just transpired. He felt... whole. The regret he felt was still heavy on him, but now he was no longer torn in two halves, no longer afraid to feel such things. A different kind of weight was lifted off of him, one that had been plaguing him since the day he joined the Howling Commandos and their Captain. Now he no longer had to fear that he would live while others died.

The idea of never seeing Bucky again had terrified him to the point where he couldn’t bear to see that reality. But now it was possible, whenever his time came. Tom flipped the pages of the diary, a mere object now, no longer a vessel of dark magic. The runes it powered could still be activated remotely, but now he would have to place extra precautionary charms on it, just in case. Such things could be done at a later date, or perhaps, never at all. That time could be fast approaching, seeing as they were going to storm the HYDRA headquarters and face the two most dangerous men in the world. A smile crept to his pale face as he exited the bunker, ready to fight.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was was mortal once more.

* * *

It didn’t take long to gain the information needed from the captured prisoners. Zola was the most talkative, the self serving HYDRA scientist switching sides (or supposedly, Tom didn’t trust the man’s supposed new loyalties) as soon as he realized his position. Mulciber, on the other hand, had talked after a prolonged stay in the Wizard Trapped cell (and when Tom had snapped his wand), unable to cope with the fact that they had managed to ‘take his magic away’. With that information compiled, everyone involved in the fight to bring down HYDRA had gathered in the strategy room, planning out what would hopefully be their final attack.

“Johann Schmidt belongs in a bug house.” Colonel Phillips growled out, “He thinks he's a God. He's willing to blow up half the world to prove it, starting with the USA.”

“Schmidt's working with powers beyond our capabilities, even with the addition of magic on our side.” Howard continued grimly, and Tom picked up on the fact that the scientist was sneaking him glances, “His advantage, called the Tesseract, is an artifact of legend. He gets across the Atlantic, he will wipe out the entire eastern sea board in an hour.”

The Tesseract. A cube that held infinite power, and something that up until today Tom was sure was an object of myth. It would, however, explain Schmidt’s obsession with Nordic mythology, and his god complex (and why, though he was a muggle, Grindelwald was working with him). HYDRA had been able to harness pure, solid magic from a cube that was rumored to have infinite potential.

“How much time we got?” Gabe asked, voicing the question on everyone’s minds.

It was actually mentioned, once, in the writings of Salazar Slytherin, who had said that the Tesseract was given to mortal men for safekeeping, to muggles no less. When he had read that recounting Tom had snorted in derision, wondering how a muggle and their descendants could possibly be worthy of guarding such an artifact. Looking around the room now, he saw the lengths they would go to protect all they held dear.

“According to my new best friend,” Phillips replied in a grave tone, “under twenty four hours.”

 _It’s a race to the finish then_ , Tom thought to himself, _and we are rapidly running out of time_. His mind began to drift again as he stared blankly at the map pinned to the planning table. As he fought to focus once more, Jacques asked his own question.

“Where is he now?”

“Hydra's last base is here.” the Colonel answered, holding up a photograph and pointing to the entrance nearly hidden by the snow-covered mountainside, “In the Alps. Five hundred feet below the surface.”

Ah, yes, the other Commandos weren’t there for the initial questionings. Zola was met with only Phillips as everyone else was fully prepared to kill the HYDRA scientist where he was kept, and Mulciber may or may not have undergone quite a bit of torture under Tom’s hand (non-magically, as they were inside the wizard’s cell). Ultimately it was Monty who coaxed the information out from the man, and the older wizard came out with answers and an empty vial of Veritaserum. Tom had told the man that had become his father figure that using the truth potion had completely slipped his mind, but both of them knew better.

Tom had wanted him to feel the pain brought on by Bucky’s death, a pain that outweighed even the Cruciatus Curse.

“So, what are we supposed to do?” asked Jim, the Japanese American thinking the information over, “I mean, it's not like we can just knock on the front door.”

The ticking Below the surface that Tom noticed in Steve’s eyes told the wizard that the supersoldier was seriously considering the thought, however. At this point in time, was bursting through the front really such a bad idea? HYDRA wouldn’t be expecting such a bold move, especially if some high profile soldiers (aka Steve and Tom, the respective icons against them) went in first, drawing attention away from the army that would march in after.

“Well why not?” voiced Steve, whose eyes glinted in determination, “That's exactly what we're gonna do.”

“We’ll need backup.” Colonel Phillips countered, “A shit ton of backup, if we’re going to be fighting against lunatics waving around sticks that can turn even the finest soldiers into a bunch of frogs.”

At this statement, all eyes turned to Tom, who straightened up under the scrutiny of his peers. Fishing a rolled up piece of parchment from his pocket, he handed the missive over to the Colonel.

“The Auror Corps have agreed to take part in this battle, if only to see the end of Grindelwald.” Tom intoned professionally, “They will meet us at the rendezvous point of our choosing and march alongside our army as a show of unity. How well they will actually work with our own troops, however, is not something I can guarantee.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” answered Colonel Phillips, “For now the fact that they’re prepped and ready to raise hell is enough.”

After the initial planning was mapped out, the group dispersed to prepare for their most dangerous mission yet. Tim busied himself with making sure that the Commandos would have enough ammo to see them through the fight ahead, be it against HYDRA or wizards. As he did this, the youngest Sergeant of the Howling Commandos was approached by a rather nervous looking Howard Stark. For a few seconds neither spoke, before the scientist took a deep breath and heaved out a heavy sigh.

“I think you should sit this fight out.”

His words made Tom freeze, its contents entirely unexpected. Blue eyes regarded worried brown with a narrowed countenance.

“Why?”

Howard produced a roll of parchment from his pocket, which told Tom that it was either Monty or Feemie who put the man up to this, and promptly handed it to the rather perplexed wizard. Unrolling the parchment, Tom realized that this was a diagnostic report of his health via a sample of his blood (which Feemie must have taken when he was unconscious).

“Remember that thing you said about you being a descendant of your Patron God Loki?” Howard stated wryly, “Well unless the guy was a Frost Giant, someone at some point lied about your heritage. Turns out the Shield of Loki’s been channeling magic into you, not just the other way around, and due to the fact that you just happened to choose that insignia for the shield-”

“It’s awoken a dormant part of my bloodline?” Tom finished with a raised eyebrow.

“Not that simple I’m afraid.” was Howard’s answer, “Once that part of you ‘woke up’, it’s been systematically replacing other aspects of your blood with itself.”

 _It certainly explains quite a lot_ , Tom mused to himself as he read the report. The blood of a Frost Giant, a trait very few could boast. Such a being had not been seen since the time before the Founders, though it’s been told to have abilities and intelligence far above the capabilities of modern giants.

“Hence the physical and magical changes since I’ve had it.” Tom muttered more to himself than anyone else, his eyes scanning the page in interest, “The Frost Giant blood seems to be overwriting itself into my Wizarding blood, causing my magic to change as well. And because the branch of Jotunn magic has been largely unused, any overexertion on my part might lead to magical exhaustion.”

And yet, how did it get there? It was rumored that Loki, God of Mischief, was in fact borne of the Jotunn Laufey. Such an implication would be sheer scandal if voiced among gods (or at least, that’s what the books said), but if it were true, and this blood truly was at the forefront now, what kind of magic reserve did he hold now? What was he capable of?

“Don’t forget the little note there that says ‘ _Death_ by Magical Exhaustion’.” Howard quipped back, “It’s a pretty important part.”

Tom barely contained the noncommittal noise that threatened to make itself known. If he had wanted a higher chance of living, he would have chosen a path far from the battlefield. Besides, there was a reason he had recalled his Horcrux.

“Howard.” the Wizard began, returning the report to the inventor and placing a hand on the man’s shoulder, “This is my choice to go. If I wanted to live a long life, I would not have chosen the path of the soldier. Bucky...” his voice caught when he said the name, “had known that, and still fought alongside us. Were I to leave now, for a mere chance, for that’s what it is, just a chance I might die from magical exhaustion, it would be a slight upon his character.”

The hand not on Howard’s shoulder found themselves in the pocket of his uniform, where a silver lighter with _Fiendfyre_ engraved on the side was nestled. Thin fingers clasped around the small object, as if trying to draw strength from it.

“I refuse to let him die in vain.”

Their eyes met once more, each determined to their cause. After a minute of silent argument, it was Howard that sighed and admitted defeat. All the man could give was a somber nod, which was returned by the young Wizard that was now proving himself as a man.

“You won’t. I’m sure of it.”

Those words, surprisingly, did not come from the scientist. Tom and Howard turned around to see Steve leaning against the doorframe, an expression of pride on his face. The youngest Sergeant in the Commandos saluted his Captain, which the supersoldier mirrored. No more words were exchanged, but the silence between them was full of meaning. Closeness, grief, understanding, pride, sorrow, determination. A silent promise. This fight was for Nobby, for those who were lost because of the inaction of the Wizarding World, for the soldiers who gave their lives so that evil may not prevail.

Fingers gripped the lighter tighter, feeling the cool metal warm to his skin. Perhaps, if he concentrated really hard, Tom could hear his voice (full of mirth and laughter, laid back words promising that they would go out for drinks after the job was done, a scream he wasn’t there to hear, wasn’t there to save) in this moment absent of sound. Blue eyes fluttered closed as Tom took a deep breath. In, out.

This was for Bucky.

* * *

 _This is a stupid plan_ , thought Tom as he was captured side by side with Steve at the entrance to the HYDRA headquarters, _how was I convinced that this was a good plan? Bloody Gryffindors are rubbing off on me_.

They had made quite the scene, what with the two respective heroes riding their motorcycles into the fray, shooting down HYDRA agents left and right. Tom assumed that the remainder of Grindelwald’s vast army was somewhere inside, preparing for the next step with vigor. After all, to leave the Tesseract in the hands of muggles would be sacrilegious to their cause. Hopefully they would be as disagreeable to their muggle counterparts as they were during the fall of Nurmengard.

Getting cuffed and dragged into the midst of the serpent’s den (one day, the back of his mind dreamed, one day it will be I who am the serpent and not the mouse) was not something Sergeant Tom would have considered to be a good way to win the war but alas, they were playing the bait today. Rough hands forced him onto his knees, and from the floor he looked up to see the two greatest threats to the world standing side by side, sneering down at them in condescension. Grindelwald especially seemed to be sending glares of barely contained hate towards Lord Voldemort (whose mask laid at the Dark Lord’s feet, one of the eyepieces sporting a rather large crack), not that Tom could really blame him for such animosity. Both his fortress and his pride had been lost in one day, neither of which he could regain as long as Lord Voldemort was still around to ruin his plans.

“Arrogance may not be a uniquely American trait,” Johann Schmidt began with his hands behind his back, condescension lacing his voice, “but I must say you do it better than anyone.”

The notion that Steve was arrogant sounded rather ridiculous to Tom’s ears. Thick-headed as the Captain was, arrogance was not something that he managed to exude. That was Howard’s department, as well as Tom himself (though he preferred to think of himself as sure of his abilities).

“And _you_ , my traitorous friend,” Grindelwald added, sneering down at the bound wizard, “are a rather close second.”

Instead of glaring, Tom sent a smirk in the direction of the German wizard. This did not deter Grindelwald at the least, having seen the acting skills of Lord Voldemort during the skirmish of Nurmengard. By seemingly acting confident, the young wizard was conveying that he was trying to salvage his pride in the face of defeat. Or at least, that was what Tom wanted the man to think.

“But there are limits to what even you can do, Captain.” Schmidt continued, as if Grindelwald wasn’t there, causing the Dark Lord’s left eye to twitch minutely, “Or did Erskine tell you otherwise?”

Oh, this was interesting. Was this display to show false rivalry between two unified leaders, or were the both of them trying to outshine one another? If so, what would happen if such a scab (one from a wound that Tom had most likely ripped open) was picked at?

“He told me you were insane.” replied Steve seriously, the look on his face telling his Sergeant that he too had noticed the dissonance.

“And also hideous.” Tom piped up from next to him, “Have you looked in the mirror lately or have you thrown them all out in fear of seeing yourself?”

A low growl came from the throat of the aptly named Red Skull, while Steve fought rather hard to keep himself from laughing at his enemy’s expense.

“He resented my genius and tried to deny me what was rightfully mine.” the head of HYDRA spoke, his eyes boring into Captain America and refusing to acknowledge Sergeant Riddle’s existence, “But he gave you everything. So, what made you so special?”

“Nothin'.” he heard Steve reply to Schmidt, “I'm just a kid from Brooklyn.”

With Schmidt’s focus now on his Captain, Tom turned with a smug smirk to Grindelwald, who was gripping the Elder Wand rather tightly. Anger flashed in the Dark Lord’s eyes as he scanned the muggle attire of the wizard who had turned his back on pureblood and Wizarding social constructs, which widened as they took in the sight of a diamond shaped gem on Tom’s armband. It was then that Tom’s smirk widened into a manic grin as the ‘reason’ for his strength was revealed.

“And so the great Lord Voldemort shows his hand.” Grindelwald whispered out, “And here they were telling me that you were a borne Master of Magic.” the last part was said with a sneer.

“Greatness can come from the most humble of origins.” was the young Sergeant’s only reply.

Tom Riddle did not waver in his smile, though the level of mania that it exuded seemed to rise. It seemed to incense the Dark Lord further, and the young wizard briefly wondered if he was always this mad (yes, a part of him whispered, yes you were).

The simple, scathing replies from the two captured men seemed to grind on the nerves of the seething megalomaniacs, if the spots in Tom’s eyes were anything to gauge by. He was about to taunt Grindelwald on why he was using physical force before a wave of pain flowed through him. Tom forced himself to grit his teeth as he was subject to the Cruciatus Curse for the second time in thirty six hours, his body protesting the excited pain nerves as he shuddered in place.

“Perhaps it would do you well to learn some humility then!” Grindelwald snarled out, keeping the Elder Wand pointed at the kneeling form of Lord Voldemort.

Next to him, Captain America wasn’t faring well either. Blood spotted his mouth and there was bruising around his left eye. The punches he received from Schmidt did little to break his spirit, and the soldier even managed to crack a smile in the enemy’s direction.

“I can do this all day.” Steve grunted out, causing Tom to laugh despite the pain he felt.

Whether it was because it was Grindelwald preforming the curse or the Elder Wand’s power, the Cruciatus Curse felt worse than when he had experienced it on the train. This time, however, he was not suffering alone, and his Captain did his best to keep both their minds off of the abuse.

Tom was grateful he had such a friend as Steve.

“Oh, of course you can. Of course.” Schmidt replied almost lightly, “But unfortunately I am on a tight schedule.”

From his holster, the Red Skull retrieved a pistol and pointed it at Steve, the tip glowing a familiar blue light. Grindelwald, seeing that the muggle Tom followed so loyally was about to meet his end, cancelled the torture curse.

It seemed that the time for their immaculate performance was up, and it was time to pull the plug on this charade. With a wry grin sent to each other, Tom and Steve exclaimed in tandem.

“So are we!”

A loud crash came from the left, and from the window leading to the outside came the rest of the Howling Commandos, Dum Dum leading the front. Elation filled Tom as he began to grin widely, catching the bone-white yew wand thrown to him by Gabe. Power thrummed at his fingers as he whirled around, firing off spells at the Dark Lord that had only seconds ago had the young Sergeant under the Cruciatus Curse. Picking up the mask that looked a little worse for wear, Tom Riddle once more became to icon of Lord Voldemort, standing tall as he faced his foe (his body trying to recuperate from the oversensitive nerves while his mind fought to keep itself from fogging up in the midst of battle, not that he would let the, see his weakness).

“Rogers!” cried Lord Falsworth, “You might need this!”

The red, white, and blue shield that Tom had grown to know so well soared above his head, caught by the deft hands of Captain Rogers. Steve flashed a grateful smile and shouted a jaunty “Thanks!” before going off and joining his Commandos in the fray, knocking out a HYDRA agent behind Tom with the shield’s rim. Back to back, Captain America and Lord Voldemort fought through the waves of enemy soldiers that flooded the room to protect their respective leaders, while both Schmidt and Grindelwald attempted to disappear into the crowd.

Tom’s mind began to tick as he and Steve chased the escaping men though the tunnel-like halls of the base. If Grindelwald was running, that meant that the anti-disapperation and anti-portkey wards were still in place (not that Tom could tell otherwise, considering his upgraded mask had been kicked to the wind by Mulciber). If the wards were still in place, that meant Grindelwald was trying to trap Tom inside the base while sealing the fate of his own followers.

Why? Why would a Dark Lord seal off all magical exits without an escape plan? Tom pondered this as they weaves through the halls, shooting off spells at oncoming blasts of blue and dark spells alike as the megalomaniacs tried to hinder their chase, trying to piece together this conundrum. Speaking of conundrums, why were Schmidt and Grindelwald running in the same direction? Shouldn’t they have split up already, dividing their enemy so that they weren’t bogged down by attacks? They’ve had plenty of opportunities to do so. Blue eyes narrowed as he took in yet another interesting fact. Grindelwald was always behind Schmidt, the Dark Lord following the Red Skull close by but never overtaking the man. This would be a hit to the man’s pride unless the German wizard had no idea where he was going. Suddenly, the pieces clicked into place. There was one artifact powerful enough to travel through such wards, and both men were aiming to reach it first.

“Steve!” Tom shouted as he chopped off an enemy (was it wizard or muggle? The black clothing made it rather confusing...) with the spinning rim of his own shield, “Schmidt’s headed for the Tesseract!”

Before his Captain could give an answer to Tom’s deduction, Schmidt slammed a button on the console next to the wall, and suddenly the doorway in front of them started to shut itself closed. The Red Skull, hearing Tom’s words as they bounced off the walls, shot at Grindelwald angrily with his Tesseract-powered rifle, causing the Dark Lord to veer off in another direction to avoid being vaporized by the beams of pure magic. As the doors in front of them began to close, Steve threw his shield at the sliding panels, wedging the disc in between. Tom could not help but laugh at the ingenuity, but his mirth did not last long.

Their path was soon blocked by another HYDRA agent, which blasted a distracted Sergeant Riddle into the wall with a vertical column of fire. The young wizard had managed to cast a flame freezing charm before the flames could do much damage, but he was still seeing spots in his vision from where he hit his head on the steel walls. Shaking his head to clear his foggy mind, Tom stood up to regard this new hurdle.

This agent was quite larger than the regular ones, and appeared to have the same kind of suit that the agents who captured them in their way into the headquarters in the first place wore. Two large flamethrowers were mounted onto the armor, and behind the soldier Tom could see their targets heading further down the corridors (though now it was Schmidt that was top priority, considering the fact that Grindelwald had failed in his attempt to seize control of a weapon he couldn’t even find) and away from sight. His Captain, now without his shield, fell back behind Tom, who positioned his shield to protect both of them from the onslaught as best he could.

The sound of gunshots rang from behind them, and the behemoth with the flamethrowers in front of them fell backwards, dead. Tom and Steve turned around to see Peggy jogging towards them, pistol in hand. A relieved smile came upon his Captain’s face, the kind one gets when they see that particular loved one safe.

“You’re late.” was Steve’s form of greeting, something the pair had taken to saying since that day when Tom first saw her.

 _Hopeless, the both of them_ , he thought to himself with a smile, saluting the woman who had come to their rescue.

“Weren't you about to...” Peggy began, motioning to the empty corridor and causing Steve to remember to reason why they were in the headquarters in the first place.

“Right!” was his answer as the soldier ran off to give chase to Schmidt, patting Tom on the back as he rushed off.

Tom and Peggy gave each other a single, knowing glance before heading off behind him, intent on finding where Grindelwald had run off to.

They jogged through the rather empty corridor, the silence almost eerie as the two of them searched for the missing Dark Lord. From other area of the facility screams and bangs could be heard, though any skirmishes seemed to be rather far off. This off-putting relative silence was not to last, however, as soon the thundering sound of boots against the metal floors reverberated from the walls, coming nearer to their location. Both wizard and muggle tensed at the noise, drawing their weapons at the approaching individual. Gunfire sounded as Tom raised his shield to protect himself, before he heard a groan come from the man who fired.

“Dammit, Sergeant, take off your mask!” barked Colonel Phillips, “You look too much like those damn HYDRA idiots with ‘em on!”

Tom obeyed his superior, shucking off the mask after giving the Colonel a salute that properly conveyed his feelings on the matter (without being too disrespectful). Peggy watched with a quirk to one side of her mouth before saluting her boss in a stiffer manner. Since the path they had just taken obviously didn’t lead to any Elder Wand waving Dark Lords, the three SSR members headed off at the next fork in the tunnels.

“Grindelwald’s scuttled off somewhere.” Sergeant Riddle reported as they rounded yet another bend, “But Schmidt’s gone for the Tesseract. I assume it’s on that plane that he made me and the others build back in the Austrian base. Captain Rogers has gone after him.”

It appeared they were headed in the right direction, if the addition of enemy HYDRA soldiers were anything to go by. Tom briefly wondered where Grindelwald’s followers had gone as he threw his shield at the soldier aiming his rifle towards Peggy (who in turn shot the HYDRA goon aiming for him). Now that he thought about it, none of the men he had faced thus far had been firing spells at him, only the familiar blue beams of the Tesseract-based HYDRA weapons. So where was Grindelwald’s army? He most certainly had one hiding here, that Tom was sure of, but they had yet to show their faces. What were they waiting for?

“Sergeant Riddle!” shouted Peggy, snapping Tom from his distracted state, “Sounds like an aircraft is about to take off! We have to get to Steve!”

Tom followed Colonel Phillips and Agent Carter into a large hanger, killing the opposition that attempted to down them. A large tunnel lead off at the other end, the opening much larger than the ones they had just been traveling in. The rumbling sound of a giant locomotive emanated from it, confirming that Schmidt had reached his destination and Steve was most likely falling behind.

“Oh, really?” was Tom’s sarcastic reply, “And how, pray tell, are we going to go about... ah.”

His words died in his mouth as he took in the sight of the large automobile with the HYDRA insignia mounted on the front (how ostentatious, Schmidt was as bad as Grindelwald with his obsession with sticking his symbols everywhere he could), already facing the direction they needed to go. Climbing into the driver’s seat (it was quite comfortable, he should get one of these things one day... perhaps Howard would help him tweak it) Tom quickly found the keys that most likely belonged to the car and stuck it into the ignition, turning it and smiling when the vehicle revved up immediately.

“This thing’s a three seater.” grunted Colonel Phillips, “You two help Rogers. I’ll see if we can round up the rest of these bastards.”

“Tell me if you run into any wizards.” Tom replied with a salute as Peggy climbed into the back seat, “They’ve yet to show up to this party.”

“You don’t get to order me around, Sergeant!” retorted the Colonel, but the man gave Tom a short nod anyway.

With those parting words said, Tom slammed his foot down on the accelerator, causing the tires to screech as the two of them took off to help their star-spangled friend. Using the mirror, the young wizard noted that Peggy’s face looked rather stricken (but then again, Tom was notorious for being rather vicious in his driving, hence why he generally wasn’t allowed on civilian roads), causing Lord Voldemort to laugh aloud. It was no longer a high pitched, cold thing as it had been when he started out as a Howling Commando (his voice had deepened slightly due to the effects of his Jotunn heritage coming to the forefront, and now held warmth that stemmed from being with those he cared about), but still managed to retain its original manic energy. This only garnered him an eyeroll from his fellow Englander.

The tunnel they had gone into turned out to be some sort of underground runway, and up ahead Tom could clearly see the large aircraft (the “Valkyrie”, if his memory was correct. What was with Schmidt and Norse mythology?) with its thrusters ablaze, picking up its speed gradually. As they got closer, a figure running (and hilariously failing) towards the retreating aircraft could be made out. With a wry smirk, Tom made a hard brake, the car squealing to a full stop next to a bewildered Captain America.

“Need a lift?” he greeted cheekily.

Steve gets into the seat next to Tom with a few quick steps, a smile on his lips. As soon as his Captain was completely situated, the youngest Commando rammed his foot into the accelerator once more, propelling the three of them closer to the Valkyrie.

“This is the one time I’m grateful for your crazy driving.” Steve muttered out, causing a wide, manic smile to appear on the wizard’s face, “Still not letting you anywhere near city streets, Tom.”

A chuckle came from his throat as Tom shook his head, trying to focus on getting Steve onto the plane. By the way that the Valkyrie was speeding up in front of them, Schmidt had noticed their arrival and was attempting to outrun them (which wasn’t hard, he had a plane and they only had a car). Two giant sliding doors opened, revealing the cold mountain terrain outside. Time was running short, and if Schmidt managed to take off before Steve could get on the aircraft, HYDRA would destroy every major city on the planet. He couldn’t mess with the electronics of the car, and trying to hit the Valkyrie with a spell while the Tesseract was inside (along with an unknown amount of Tesseract-powered bombs) would almost certainly level the entire mountain.

 _Shit_ , Sergeant Riddle thought to himself, blue eyes scanning the array of buttons, switches, and displays in front of him for something that might be able to aid him, stopping at a rather ridiculously large red button. _I wonder what this does_...

As it turned out, the red button was exactly what they needed. Thrusters from the side of the car roared to life as soon as Tom pressed it, rocketing the trio forward. In seconds they had reached the tail end of the Valkyrie, the dark haired soldier steadying the vehicle so that one could leap from the seat from the right side. Steve, who was now standing on the seat with on leg on the outside of the car, readied himself for the jump.

“Keep it steady!” his Captain ordered over the noise, earning a salute from Tom (who did a rather dangerous form of driving with only his left hand for the motion).

“Wait!” the plea came from Peggy, who was leaning forward from her seat, fighting to stand up against the rushing wind.

Steve turned back, slightly confused, before he was pulled into a kiss by the brunette Agent. Blue eyes flecked with green conveyed both elation and surprise (though Tom shook his head slightly, ), and met with resolute brown.

“Go get him.” Peggy stated.

An order.

With the kiss still obviously lingering in his mind, Steve then turned to Tom, who raised a single eyebrow at him.

“I’m _not_ kissing you Steve.” he told the supersoldier flatly, causing the man to chuckle in this moment that weighed so heavily on them.

Keeping the vehicle steady with his left hand (not an easy feat, mind you), the young soldier wrapped his arm around his Captain’s back to bring him into a rather awkwardly positioned one-armed hug. This was reciprocated with both arms by Steve, who smiled into his shoulder. It was a brief, silent action that conveyed a deep connection between the brothers in arms.

“You owe me a drink when this is all over.” Sergeant Riddle stated with a wide grin.

A promise.

Captain America nodded seriously as Tom returned both hands to the wheel (to Peggy and Steve’s relief), pulling dangerously close to the speeding plane. The exit to the outside world was nearing, their window short. Tom drove beneath the left propeller and Steve ducked down, using his shield to protect himself from the whirring blades while the dark haired driver lowered his head so that he didn’t get beheaded by the muggle contraption (and internally added propellers to the list of reasons why he hated airplanes). Once the spinning deathtraps were bypassed, Captain Rogers made the leap from the car to one of the landing wheels of the Valkyrie.

Just in time, too, considering that the second he did so the Valkyrie rose from the ground and took off to the sky. Tom had no time to witness it, however, as the runway ended abruptly on the alpine cliffside, forcing him into a maneuver that had the car braking and spinning around violently. When the car finally ceased moving, the back wheels were an inch shy of the road’s end, with the vehicle facing the headquarters.

With the danger of plummeting to one’s death out of the way, both Tom and Peggy turned in their seats to watch the Valkyrie climb higher into the sky. The wind and cold whipped at their faces, reminding them of their current predicament. Without taking her eyes off of the retreating aircraft, Peggy spoke to the young Commando.

“You put a tracking charm on him, didn’t you? When you hugged him.”

This earned a snort from her driver.

“What do you think I am, stupid?” quipped Lord Voldemort.

* * *

**AN: Before I finish the chapter, some of you have suggested I post Omakes. So here's the first one!**

**Gryffindorish Tendencies - March 1944**

Smoke billowed to the ceiling of the Leaky Pot, mingling together so that one could not tell where each piece originated. Unless you were watching the smoke curl from the end of the cigarette itself, which was what James Buchanan Barnes was doing, staring at the end of the tobacco stick situated between his fingers, before closing his eyes as he sighed audibly. On his left was Steve Grant Rogers, who was at a loss for words, his face expressing enough for the two of them. On Bucky’s right was the recipient of said look and the reason for his current headache - Tom Marvolo Riddle, who was for once fidgeting in his seat.

Good.

“In my defense,” the teenage wizard muttered, “I’m usually not prone to such Gryffindorish tendencies.”

There was silence between them, and the dark haired American could only hear the background noise of the bustling pub. Tom had taken to nervously fiddling with his wand (which apparently wasn’t used for all magic, as he just found out), as he waited for one of the two older soldiers to speak, react, _anything_.

“So let me get this straight,” Steve began, blue eyes mixed with green (a sign of his Irish heritage, something he was proud of) taking in the almost imperceptible shift of Tom’s body language, indicating slight relief that they were still speaking to him, “You visit your maternal grandfather, who you’ve never met, in a broken down shack on the outskirts of an isolated town only to find that he’s dead and that you’ve got an uncle.”

“Yes.” Tom answered shortly, not looking up from his wand-fiddling.

“And so the first thing you do after meeting him is hit him with a memory erasing spell and a spell that implants false memories before stealing his wand and family ring.” Bucky deadpanned, wondering if this was what mothers felt like when dealing with their trouble-magnet children.

“I never said I was a saint...” the teenager mumbled lowly, but was cut off from further explanation by Steve.

“So then you go to the local inn instead of confronting your dad, who lived in a manor just up the hill from said shack because you felt like if you did, you probably would have killed him and his entire family if you got an answer you didn’t like.”

Tom squirmed in his seat, an action Bucky and Steve had done quite a bit under the stern and worried gaze of Sarah Rogers as they explained yet again why her anemic and asthmatic son was covered in bruises and sporting a bloody lip. Never had either of the two soldiers thought they would be on the other end of the situation, staring down at the boy they had unspokenly and unofficially adopted into their little, dysfunctional family. A little brother that seemed to have as much of a penchant for trouble and danger (if not more, if what they had just heard was true) as the two of them.

“Then after you stayed at the inn,” Bucky continued after Steve, “You also wiped the memory of the innkeeper, which apparently alerted the wizard cops because it was a non-magic designation. You get spooked, and then you teleport with magic nearly _a thousand miles away_ because the only farthest random place you could think of was a wooded area.”

Silence.

“That you saw on a postcard in a travel store.”

More silence.

“ _Once_.”

The teenage wizard opened his mouth to say something, but Bucky wasn’t finished talking just yet. He didn’t care what the actual magical name was for what he did, only the principle. Man, he was starting to sound like a parent. Could it be considered adoption if the orphan was almost grown up and was close to the age of the adopters?

“This is itself sounds insane, but _then_ we factor in the knowledge that you’d only practiced teleporting close distances in a controlled environment _and_ the fact that failure to properly teleport could lead to dismemberment.”

“And the fact that using up your magic could actually kill you, and Apparating-“ _Ah, that was the word_ , Bucky thought to himself as Steve picked up where he had left off, “nine hundred something miles, unknowingly, definitely fits into that category.”

“Again.” Tom intoned delicately, his eyes of shifting shades of blue betraying sheepishness against an impassive face, “I’m usually not prone to such Gryffindorish tendencies. It was a rather odd twenty four hours for me.”

“ _Rather odd!?_ ” Bucky rebutted (he did not screech, he did _not_ screech), “What part of ‘you could have died’ can’t you get into your head? What if you had gotten caught by the wizard cops-”

“Aurors.” Tom interrupted, which told Bucky he was feeling braver.

“Aurors.” the American repeated before continuing his rant, “You would have been sent to jail or dismembered or dead from exhaustion because of poor impulse control! Don’t you have anything else to say for yourself other than it wasn’t something you normally did?”

The British teen blinked owlishly at the two Americans, not quite sure what they wanted him to say. Bucky waited as Tom’s brilliant mind began to tick beneath the surface, looking for an answer to the question he had posed. A myriad of emotions passed rapidly through his eyes. Confusion, bewilderment, dawning understanding and then finally incredulity.

“I’m...sorry?” the youngest of the trio tried, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Steve and Bucky both relaxed their tense shoulders (if this was what having kids was like, Bucky would happily die a bachelor), nodding. Having Tom as a pseudo-little brother was sometimes laborious enough, he didn’t want to think about the trouble a miniature Bucky (or Steve, his sickness had made the shit they got up to even worse as there was always the chance that the guy would collapse at even the slightest breeze) running around for him to round up.

“And that you’ll try not to do something so life-endangering again.” the American brunet added, “The last thing I need is for you to bite the dust before us. That just wouldn’t be right.”

This time Tom laughed, but it felt empty. Like a cover for something he had yet to share.

“Not sure if I could promise that, considering I’m a Commando like you now. Dying is almost a certainty in this business, no?” the British soldier replied almost nonchalantly, an eyebrow quirked, but Bucky could see in his eyes that the boy was anything but calm.

The eldest of the trio reeled in his ‘Mama Bear Mode’ once he realized that Tom was dangerously close to putting up the proverbial walls again. It seemed to happen every time anyone mentioned the notion that they might die, and he wasn’t sure whether this was a fear of others dying or a fear of Tom’s own demise.

“I just said ‘before us’.” Bucky snarked out, trying to bring back a genuine smile from the normally aloof teen.

To his relief, it worked. A smirk crept up onto Tom Riddle’s pale face, as close to a real smile as he was going to get at this point. Still, he was thankful for small miracles.

“So what am I supposed to do? Kill you?” was the young man’s retort.

Laughter bubbled from the three of them, and the topic turned to other things. Still, in the back of his mind Bucky promised himself that he would make sure that the orphan boy that he had grown so attached to didn’t try anything as stupid as _that_ ever again.


	14. Heroism Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sacrifice, Matryrdom, and Persistance. The mark of a Hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to give Kudos, Subscribe and Comment!

High above the Atlantic Ocean, Captain Steve Rogers did battle with one of the worst bullies he had ever come across - Johann Schmidt, also known as the Red Skull. The HYDRA leader’s goons were dead, one buried beneath the sea inside a propelled bomber, and the others either gunned down or knocked out. The back end of the Valkyrie was damaged due to the fact that Steve had just crashed one of said propeller bombers into it from behind (something he knew the guys would get a kick out of once they hear about it). Blasts of blue light crashed into his shield as Schmidt began his attack.

“You don’t give up, do you?” the Red Skull sneered out, holding the large gun powered by the energy of the Tesseract.

The Tesseract. An object of magic, he knew now. Did Schmidt know what that thing was capable of? Did anyone? Steve had often wondered since he found out if such an artifact should have been uncovered by man. Perhaps it would have been better if it were still buried, lost to time, regarded as merely a myth.

“Nope!” Steve answered before rushing towards the man who threatened to destroy all that he held dear.

Within seconds he managed to close the distance between them and knock the gun out of the madman’s hands. Fists flew and feet kicked as a scuffle for victory ensued, with both men getting thrown around by the other and Steve getting bashed by his own shield at least once. A chance arose a moment later and the star spangled man (no longer a dancing monkey, now a beacon of hope, fighting for the right for all to live free) rammed the Red Skull into the flight console, causing the plane to plummet.

Both fighters were forced to the roof, where they began a fight anew. A swift kick sent Steve to the back of the room and allowed enough time for Schmidt to engage the autopilot function and return the Valkyrie back to cruising position. Steve landed back on the ground with an audible _thump_ , but was quick to recover. A good thing he did, as the Red Skull pulled out a Tesseract-powered pistol from his holster.

“You could have the power of the gods!” shouted Schmidt as he fired at Steve, “Yet you wear a flag on your chest and think you fight a battle of nations! I have seen the future, Captain! There are no flags!”

Steve didn’t even want to comment on the sheer irony of the man’s words and actions. Appealing to your enemy whilst trying to kill him was generally not a good way of going about convincing him of your point of view. Furthermore, did the ‘no flags’ rule apply to the HYDRA flag as well? Because that thing was an eyesore. Steve silently wished that Bucky was there with him, as he would have really taunted the Red Skull with his wit. Better yet, get Tom’s rapid fire snark to retaliate that notion ( _You look like a walking flag_ , the man had once said, when they had first gotten all their uniforms and he could still remember the sound of Bucky’s laughter. How ironic those words come again now, from the mouth of an enemy instead of a friend). Despite those thoughts whirling through his mind, Captain America voiced none of them aloud.

“Not my future!” was all he managed to say before barrel rolling down to the main cockpit, flinging his shield at Schmidt and making the man crash into the glowing blue machine at the center of the room.

With a strange pulsing, almost gurgling cry, a glowing object rose from the metal cylinder in a burst of blue lightning. Energy crackled around it, like cerulean fire, lingering around the object that shone with an unnaturally bright light. Squinting his eyes, Steve realized that said object was a cube. A glowing blue cube of infinite magical energy (as Tom would probably call it, with eyes sparkling at the thought of studying it, eyes with shifting colors exactly like the artifact in front of him), finally revealed. Schmidt stood upon shaking legs, wobbling towards the exposed Tesseract.

“What have you done?” the Red Skull murmured aloud, picking up the cube with one hand, “No!” he breathed out, the word barely a whisper and yet the horror it conveyed reached Steve’s ears loud and clear.

The man narrowed his eyes at the Tesseract in his hand, tilting his head (as if he were pondering it. Maybe Schmidt only now noticed the wild energy of the artifact, instead of merely the power it held) and staring at the cube with an expression that bordered on awe and fear. Freed from its cage, the blue cube began the grow brighter, flexing its energy like a liberated lion stretching its legs. It felt right to regard the Tesseract as a wild animal to Steve (Tom and Monty had taught him that highly powerful magical artifacts always had a mind and personality of their own. This one was no different), and like a wild animal that had been unfairly used and abused, it turned on its master. The sound it made was akin to a roar - an ethereal, breathy cry. Blue energy crackled like lightning, spreading out and filling the walls and flying up to the ceiling, where the Tesseract’s energy gathered.

With a burst of light and sound, the ceiling was no longer there, and Steve looked up, mesmerized, at a sky untouched by light pollution with stars and cosmic clouds. The kind he saw when he looked up in the wilderness with his team, Dum Dum Dugan snoring away next to a much quieter Falsworth while Gabe Jones and Jim Morita listened sleepily for any stray HYDRA chatter, Dernier muttering in French as he slept. Steve would usually stay awake and keep watch with Bucky and Tom, staring up at the heavens above and marveling at the innumerable pinpricks of light that stretched across the expanse from horizon to horizon). Stars like that were breathtaking to those who never had the chance to see the wold above for what it was - vast and endless. It was in those moments of quiet and beauty that they told stories of home, of Brooklyn and its light pollution and fun, of Hogwarts and its solitude and majesty.

( _You’d like Hogwarts_ , he could hear the smooth voice of a soldier, tinged with slight homesickness as he regaled to the two Americans stories of the school, _there’s no city lights and the ceiling in the Great Hall is bewitched to look like the sky outside_.)

Unbidden, this memory rose to the surface of his mind.

So lost was Steve, drinking in a sight that displayed the truth of the nature of the Tesseract that he didn’t even realize that Schmidt was there until the man’s screams mixed with the artifact’s roar, a pure beam of power pouring from the cube up into the starry abyss above. The beam grew and grew, swallowing the Red Skull whole as the Tesseract took its prisoner with it into the unknown, a wave of energy washing over the room (and perhaps more, was that a sonic boom?) as the doorway closed.

(Elsewhere, Tom Riddle panicked as the Tracking Charm he placed on Steve is destroyed by a force more powerful than he could yet comprehend, not that he knew that tidbit. He was too busy trying to convince himself that _Steve was fine_ , and that he would be back soon.)

With the gateway gone, the Tesseract dropped down with a rather humble _clunk,_ burning through the grate floor and the bottom of the plane itself, falling to the sea below. Steve wondered if the metal was that weak against the artifact, or if the Tesseract was still burning from its outburst. It didn’t really matter, though, as there were more pressing matters to attend to.

Going to the slightly damaged control, Steve sat down in the pilot’s seat and scanned the displays in front of him. Just as he had feared, the plane was still headed for New York, and at the speed it was going, the whole East Coast would be wiped out in a few minutes. Checking the switch, the American soldier grimaced when he noted that the autopilot function was stuck. If he was going to manually override it, he would have to stick with it until the end or the autopilot would save the plane and everything would be for nought.

_I’m with ya ‘til the end of the line._

Bucky’s voice rang in his ears, the words a parody of its intended meaning, as Steve reached over the console and turned on the radio hoping that it was connected to the radio tower back at the HYDRA headquarters (that should be in SSR custody by now).

“Come in.” he said in what Tom would call his ‘leader voice’, trying to hide the unease he felt, the fear that gripped his being, “This is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?”

The radio crackled to life, and Steve let out a sigh of relief. He was greeted by the familiar voice of Jim Morita, signaling that the HYDRA base had been successfully captured.

“Captain Rogers,” the rather tech-savvy Commando began, “what is your-”

“Steve!” Jim was cut off by two overlapping voices, belonging to the same people that helped him get on the plane in the first place, Peggy Carter (his girl) and Tom Riddle (his little brother).

“Is that you? Are you alright?” Peggy then asked, which was followed by Tom’s relieved voice adding, “It’s good to hear your voice, Captain.”

It was no wonder how they got along so well with Bucky. They all liked to worry over him like mother hens (granted, Steve himself had done much the same thing with them, but that wasn’t the point), fearing for his safety and trying to protect him despite the fact he could now knock a guy’s lights out with a single punch.

“Peggy! Tom!” he heard himself shout, knowing that it was the last time he would get to say those names, “Schmidt’s dead.”

And unlike most people, they just saw him as Steve Grant Rogers, the guy who never ran from a fight instead of Captain America, the Star Spangled Man With A Plan. It was going to hurt leaving them. Maybe he would be able to watch over them, like Bucky probably was already.

“What about the plane?” Peggy asked, getting to the point as always.

Again he tried to dislodge the autopilot without breaking the mechanism. No change. He let out a large breath, half exhaustion and half nerves, feeling like he had asthma all over again.

“That’s a little bit tougher to explain.” Steve answered, knowing there wasn’t enough time to explain.

But it didn’t matter. Already he knew that Tom and Peggy were mentally picking apart his words and seeing the underlying meaning of them, like they always did. On the other end he could hear Tom muttered something about a Tracking Charm and an energy fluctuation.

“Give us your coordinates.” his girl ordered, effectively drowning out the younger Brit’s muttering (which in another situation would have been hilarious), “We’ll find you a safe landing site.”

Blue eyes flecked with green flickered to the display once more. Six nukes still in the back. His mission ended here, alone in a plane headed for the ocean deep.

“There’s not going to be a safe landing.” Steve sighed out, looking out towards the endless blue sky filled with clouds rapidly passing by, “But I can try and force it down.”

Well, not completely alone. The voices crackling through the radio gave him a little comfort, knowing that they’ll be alright. Even now, they were trying to find a way to bring him back. It was too bad he was trying to commit their voices to memory, their exact cadence and melody, pairing it up to what he recalled (vividly) of their faces.

“I’ll get Howard on the line,” was Peggy’s instant reply, “he’ll know what to do.”

“There’s not enough time.” he shouted, only now realizing how breathless he sounded, “This thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading for New York.”

Steve paused, looking at the rolling sky and all its wonder. How many times had he seen the same sight with nervousness and excitement, on a raid with his Commandos? Their faces came to the forefront of his mind, laughing, smiling, rolling their eyes. Their voices followed after, sharing a story, joke, a song. The soldier, ready to die, tried to recall a mental image of what he was leaving behind. Not the legacy (for why would he care about things like that?) but the people that he had come to know and love.

He had paused for too long.

“Steve.” came Tom’s smooth voice, uncharacteristically somber and filled with dread, “Please don’t do this.”

“I gotta put her in the water.”

Why did such a simple sentence hurt to say?

“Please, don’t do this.” came Peggy’s worried voice, echoing Tom, who had repeated the phrase alongside her, “W-we have time, we can work it out.”

“Right now I’m in the middle of nowhere.” Captain America replied, his eyes returning to the map display on the console where the plane indicator neared the coastline with every passing second, “If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die.”

An odd noise crackled from the radio, and Steve realized that Tom was growling in frustration. Showing that much emotion was never something the wizard did publicly, so the fact that he was doing so now told the supersoldier just how distraught the young adult was.

“Steve...” Tom began, his tone almost pleading, but Steve cut him off.

Begging was not something Tom Riddle ever did, and he would be damned if he was the one who made the kid start.

“This is my choice.”

The proclamation was met with silence. There was nothing anyone could say to that.

With his words bringing in a sense of finality to his actions, Steve Rogers fished out from his pocket a silver compass. It had been a joint gift from Peggy, Tom, and Bucky for his birthday. His old tarnished compass had been lost during the fall of Nurmengard, and the trio had pitched in to get him a new one. Peggy had bought the actual compass, but Tom had etched runes all around the case ( _Hopefully you don’t lose this one, wouldn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands, you see_ ). Bucky had instead provided a small photograph, taken by Howard during one of their many outings to the Leaky Pot, that fit perfectly into the interior of the compass.

He placed the small device on the Valkyrie’s own compass display. Looking back at him was the grinning face of Howard, who had his arm slung around a smirking Tom alongside an equally beaming Bucky. They were seated around the bar (their usual spot) with Peggy sitting in a chair in front of them, her smiling face front and center. He doubted Peggy and Tom were smiling this way now.

Steve’s resolve hardened. With renewed determination he clutched the manual controls and tipped the plane downwards, forcing the aircraft into a nosedive. Once more his eyes returned to the smiling faces on the compass.

“Peggy, Tom.” he called out.

He wanted to hear them one last time.

“We’re here.” came the instant, simultaneous reply.

A comfort, to take his mind off of what was about to happen. Like how his mother held his hand toughly when she took her final, weak breaths on their tattered mattress, her grip loosening when she finally passed away. He would meet her and Dad and Bucky when this was done, he was sure.

_Til the end of the line._

The clouds parted before him, the white expanse of ice revealed itself before him.

“I’m gonna need a rain check on that party.” the words came tumbling out of his mouth before he realized what he just said.

The chuckle Tom gave was humorless, half broken and a mite hysterical. Peggy’s wavering breaths were no better.

“All right,” his girl managed to say, “A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”

The place they danced the second time, after the awkward but exhilarating first dance at the Leaky Pot (which had ended with some of Grindelwald’s goons showing up, interrupting the moment they had shared).

“You got it.” Steve answered, his own voice wavering as the sheet of ice neared.

She had wanted to teach him to dance at a proper club after that, and Bucky had dragged Tom along for the same reasons ( _It’s almost a rite of passage to teach you two shut-ins the Jitterbug, so let’s get cracking!_ ). The memory was a fond one.

“Eight o’clock on the dot.” Tom added, and it sounded as if he were saying it through gritted teeth, “Don’t you dare be late. Understood?”

His voice cracked a couple of times, though it was obvious that he was trying to act confident despite the circumstance. Something wet trailed from the corners of Steve’s eyes, streaking down his cheeks and flying off his chin.

“We’ll have the band play somethin’ slow.” Steve said with certainty, “I’d hate to step on your feet, Peggy.”

 _I love you_. Words unspoken, yet loud and clear.

The white sheet now covered the entirety of his vision. His heart hammered in his chest as he prepared himself for the inevitable crash.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Peggy replied, “Just be there.”

 _I love you too. I’ll miss you_.

“Maybe you could even sing for us, Tom.” Steve continued, and a noise akin to a broken laugh sounded from the radio, “Something from The Wizard of Oz.”

A pause.

“So be it.” came the answer, though strained.

 _Goodbye, Brother_.

“It’ll be great.” Steve assured, “We could slow dance to Somewhere Over the Rain-“

The nose of the Valkyrie met the ice at full force, damaging the displays as the aircraft skipped over the surface like a stone skimming over a lake. Pieces from the bottom and the back fell off (if the flying debris was anything to go by) as the sharp tip of the plane buried itself into the frozen wasteland. Ice mingled with broken glass (the window had shattered upon impact), the controls and radio quiet, dead. Slowly the great rumble of the engine turned into a quiet whine as everything shut down around him. The compass was nowhere to be found, having dropped into the crevices of the floor at some point during the jarring crash. A sigh of relief came from Captain America. The world was safe, the war over.

He’d crashed into the white, frozen ground from a great height, just like Bucky. He’s sure both Tom and Bucky would have appreciated the irony.

A noise, sharp and loud, resounded from all around him. Something had just broke, and that something was the ice sheet he had landed on. As the hard shell gave way, the Valkyrie plunged headfirst into the freezing ocean. Frigid salt water stung his skin as the waves easily penetrated the broken aircraft, and Steve knew that he could only hold his breath for so long. Deciding to make use of his strength before it was sapped from him, Captain America unbuckled himself from the pilot’s seat, floating in the water as the plane further descended into the ocean’s freezing depths. Even if he could leave the ship, the conditions of the water coupled with his exhaustion from the day’s events would take its toll on him, and he would float away into the endless sea.

Steve sighed mentally as he looked up where the light was filtering in from the surface of the ocean. It was getting dimmer, though whether it was because he was sinking deeper or because the surface was once more freezing over (sealing him completely in this watery grave). He shivered, the cold seeping into his bones. Closing his eyes, Steve Rogers clasped his hands together in front of him.

One last prayer before the end.

 _Our Father in Heaven, Hallowed be Your Name_.

He spoke not in mouth (for that would have killed him instantly) and not in mind (as it was getting harder to think with each passing second), but in heart, hoping that even as he sunk down into the abyss that God would hear him. However it was not a mighty voice that replied to his prayer, but many voices that echoed back at him in the depths. Familiar voices that made his heart beat faster (it was a hallucination, he knew, brought on by the lack of oxygen, but it didn’t make them any less real to him).

_Your Kingdom come, Your Will be done,_

_Always be a good man_ , murmurs the quiet voice of Doctor Erksine, who had given him so many words of encouragement and wisdom, holding a glass filled with Schnapps in his hand. The German scientist was probably with his family now, he was a good man. Steve hoped he would see him soon, to apologize for failing him as well, for not jumping forward in time.

_On Earth as it is in Heaven._

_Better get moving, bugs!_ Dum Dum’s booming voice chimes in, and his thoughts turned toward his team, who now stood victorious over HYDRA, the enemy base overrun. Their faces, determined, joyful, somber, voices echoing through his mind like a cave. They would mourn, he was sure, but they were strong. Strong enough to fight side by side with him on the frontlines, strong enough to laugh through injury and pain. Strong enough to move on.

_Give us today our daily bread,_

_Whatever you want, pal,_ Howard adds. Steve could practically see the smirk on the inventor’s face, writing down notes and fiddling with his thin mustache. The glint in the man’s eye as he tinkered with his inventions alongside his genius compatriots was something Steve didn’t realize he would miss, and yet here he was doing that very thing.

_And forgive us our Sins, as we forgive those who Sin against us._

_So be it,_ Tom whispers as Steve remembered the wizard that had quickly turned into family. Dark hair so similar to Bucky’s the two could be mistaken for brothers. The low timbre of his voice so often carrying his sharp words from thin lips to amuse and hurt. Long, boney fingers that meticulously casted spells with an equally pale and narrow wand. Tesseract blue eyes that bored into the soul as easily as bullets pierced unguarded flesh.

_Lead us not into temptation, and deliver us from evil._

_You won’t be alone,_ Peggy proclaims, as Steve recalled every detail he could about his girl (a beautiful dame to call his own, and who would have ever thought?). Earthen hair falling down in perfect waves. Brown eyes like the richest chocolate. Smooth skin like porcelain. Lips redder than wine. The voice of an angel. An angel who saw the skinny beaten down Brooklyn kid before she ever saw the Herculean war hero. He hoped he hadn’t ruined all her chances of living a happy life after this.

_For the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory are all Yours_

_Til’ the end of the line_ , Bucky states. Thoughts flickered to times when he was younger, shorter, sicker (which really wasn’t all that long ago, really). Wiping blood from his nose from a dingy alleyway, limping alongside his taller, worried friend. Bucky, his best and oldest pal, one he couldn’t save. Steve could almost hear him now, griping about how it wasn’t his fault, before slinging an arm around his shoulder. Would Bucky be the first one he would meet?

_Now and Forever_

There was only one way to find out, he supposed, as his brain finally succumbed to the lack of oxygen. The cold had become nigh unbearable, all his strength was gone. What little energy he had left had been sapped by the very ice that froze all over him. The voices faded away as Steve’s hands slid to his sides, bubbles trailing from his mouth and nose.

_Amen._

Deep beneath the Atlantic Ocean, Captain America slipped into oblivion as ice froze all around him, encasing him alongside his well-used shield.

* * *

“Steve?” was the whispered question, “...Steve? Steve?”

The static felt all too deafening to him as something in his chest began to tighten. Tom’s eyes were screwed shut, and yet hot, stinging liquid still managed to leak out. He did not need to open them to know that Peggy was not fairing much better. Both their voices were cracking as they called his name out like a broken record, knowing full well an answer was futile. With his head bowed, Tom let out a shaky breath.

Steven Grant Rogers was dead.

The notion was almost impossible to accept. A sniffle came from beside him, and Tom squeezed her hand (which at some point during their final conversation with their costumed friend had met, needing a physical comfort for the pain that was about to hit them) as a weak notion of reassurance (of what, he wasn’t quite sure). Almost immediately he was pulled into a tight hug from the SSR Agent (which he reciprocated absentmindedly, damn these muggles for making him so soft), and the two of them stayed that way for what felt like hours, mourning the loss of their Captain (her love, his brother). Hearing Bucky’s death secondhand was bad enough. This was akin to the pain he felt with his Horcrux (both its creation and its reunion to the core), and _bloody hell_ it _seared_. Of the three of them, Steve and Bucky were the most pure, the most wholesome. It was Tom whose soul had been blackened with past sins, so why was he (the monster) the one left standing while they had died? After all that he did to make sure he could perish alongside them?

This moment of weakness and loss, however, was interrupted by a rather frantic Jim Morita ( _when on Earth had he left the room?_ Tom wondered in the back of his mind). With the sound of thundering footsteps echoing in the radio tower becoming louder, Tom and Peggy broke apart to face the fellow Howling Commando.

“Grindelwald and his army’s got the entrance blocked.” the communications officer of the group stated, not remarking on the appearance of either British operative, “Looks like he’s waiting for someone.”

“Probably for you.” replied a gruff voice.

Behind Jim came another familiar face, which was that of Alastor Moody. The blond Auror trainee had an expression on his face that Tom could only label as ‘constipated’ as he faced the youngest Commando.

“The war’s not over yet.” the wizard that was just a few years Tom’s senior growled out, “The Auror Corps are at your disposal, and each of us are ready to fight with our lives under your lead.”

“Us too.” came the voice of Dum Dum Dugan, with the rest of the Commandos trailing behind him, “This part of the war’s your specialty, kid, and none of us can go home until this bozo is dead. We’ve got your back, Sarge, I’m sure Cap would be proud.”

A final man parted the small crowd that had formed to face Tom. Colonel Phillips seemed to eye the young wizard for a brief moment before letting out a sigh. Two hands clamped down on his shoulders as Tom’s superior spoke his next words with a heavy tone.

“With Captain Rogers unable to lead the rest of the SSR into a fight that involves magic and crazy Dark Lords, it looks like that job falls to you. Under you we can officially join forces with our... magical comrades and beat this guy once and for all. But unlike the Howling Commandos, these guys are Lieutenants and Captains themselves and they aren’t going to listen to a Sergeant that just followed Captain America, even with your magic stick. They listen to rank and leadership, one of which you have and the other...”

Another heaving sigh came out, though this one was more wry. The Colonel patted Tom on the back.

“Congratulations, _Major Riddle_ , you just got a promotion.”

With that the Colonel left, most likely to inform the rest of the SSR troops of this new development. The remaining group that consisted of Moody, his fellow Howling Commandos, and Peggy turned to Tom, all of them shocked by the Colonel’s decision, which was obviously not made lightly.

“Do you think they would listen to me?” was Tom’s quiet question, asking both about the Aurors and the troops that would have to face Grindelwald’s army in its entirety.

“Without question.” answered James Falsworth, followed by the nods of Gabe, Jim, Jacques, and Dum Dum.

“After what Colonel Phillips just did?” Peggy added, “I don’t think any of them will have much of a choice we want to win.”

Moody’s answer was a snort.

“None of us would be here if we weren’t prepared to follow your orders,” the Auror trainee grumbled with an eye roll, “If it weren’t for you, the Ministry would’ve kept us out of this, twiddling out thumbs in the break room. All of us are ready to fight and ready to die. Are _you_ ready, _Lord Voldemort_?”

Their words had caused a sudden shift to occur in the whirling storm that was Tom Riddle’s mind. The indescribable pain and sadness that he felt at the loss of both Steve and Bucky, and the doubt and self loathing that had arisen because of that loss were quickly replaced by an influx of boiling anger and determination. He would not let their deaths in be vain.

Flicking his wrist, Tom felt the familiar weight of his yew wand, twirling it between his fingers before gripping it hard. A flick to his other wrist activated his shield, the object’s magic humming in power and anticipation. His blue eyes flashed red (an all encompassing crimson that did not appear human in the slightest, not that he could see that) for a brief moment before fixing all of these people (family, friends) with his piercing gaze. A smile slowly spread across his face, one that lacked any warmth or mirth and instead conveyed a kind of intense mania.

“I am ready.” was his answer, “Let’s go kick some arse.”

* * *

 

**A/N:**

**This is an actual Omake that I wasn’t able to fit into the story, but since this chapter references it, I might as well show you. The other one is for laughs. Enjoy!**

—

**Omake 1:**

**Nighttime Musings - July 1944**

The forest was quiet. Well, quiet in that there wasn’t much noise that would alarm any of the men who had set up camp. Most of the group was asleep (well, not really, Gabe and Jim, who were listening with half-lidded to some German chatter on the radio), and guard duty for the night had passed to their Captain. Even so, he wasn’t the only member of the group awake. Two others had decided to join him in the nighttime calm, Bucky and Tom. All three were currently marveling up at the clear sky, which revealed the billions of stars that endlessly stretched across the expanse above them.

“Look at that.” Bucky murmured, his head rested upon his pack, eyes scanning the sight above him, “You’d never get a sight like this back in Brooklyn.”

Steve hummed in reply, leaning his back against a tree trunk, drinking in the night as it truly was.

“With all the city lights drowning out the stars you’d never see ‘em.” he stated, his mind returning to the city that never slept, the constant hustle and bustle of New York, “Guess you never really know what you’re missin’ out on until you see it with your own eyes.”

A rustle of fabric to his left, and Steve’s mental map told him it was Tom wrapping his green and silver scarf around George, who was coiled in his lap. The rather small asp tended to get cold at night, despite it being summer. The young man (not yet a grown adult, even though his eyes were already shrewd and hard) hissed comfortingly at the serpent (like someone soothing a puppy or kitten and not a venomous snake) with a light smile on his face.

“What it is like?” asked the British soldier quietly, “Your home?”

Of course Tom would have derived what Steve was thinking about. Then again, it was probably pretty obvious. Before the blond haired man could give an answer, however, Bucky spoke up.

“Oh it’s pretty swell.” the brunette American replied, “Baseball games, hotdog stands, Coney Island... I mean it’s busy, sure, but it’s home, ya know? After all this is over we’ll take you there and show ya! Those scores of yours can be transferred, right?”

A chuckle and a shuffling noise to Steve’s left. Tom was shaking his head, and Steve glanced there to see an amused smirk on the kid’s face. Thin fingers continued to stroke George, who hissed in contentment (he had picked up certain words and cues in Parseltongue just by being around the two for a prolonged amount of time, with Tom’s help with translating, of course), as shifting blue eyes turned to Bucky.

“Yes, my NEWT scores are indeed viable in America.” Tom replied wryly, “But with Rapaport’s Law still in place there, I highly doubt any of us can get away with such obvious mingling without one or three of us dying by MACUSA’s hand.”

Bucky pouted slightly, making both Tom and Steve chuckle.

“You can still visit.” Steve supplied, smiling, “There’s no Law against that, right? And besides, you can pretend not to be a wizard at all. Wouldn’t that bypass it?”

A look of contemplation fell over Tom, and Steve knew that his argument had won.

“I suppose I could.” Tom answered quietly, “Though unless Howard flies me there, I’m not sure if I could get on a plane. Theoretically I could try to apply for an International Portkey on ‘work related’ business, and I’m sure my NEWT scores will be more than sufficient. But Portkeys are heavily regulated as it is, getting an International Portkey would be a bloody nightmare.”

“Couldn’t you make one yourself?” asked Bucky curiously, one seconds ahead of Steve.

“Yeah,” added the Captain with a knowing grin, “Pretty sure that brain of yours could find a way to sneak past all those pesky rules.”

They were gifted an amused huff and an eye roll from their efforts. Tom turned to Steve with a wry smile.

“As _gifted_ as I may be, Steve,” the teenage wizard replied, “Portkey travel has been ruled with an iron fist since the War started. Not only are Portkeys themselves heavily regulated, but the knowledge of how to make one yourself’s been stashed away in fear of students joining Grindelwald fining such information or Muggles finding out our existence if used near, with, or against them, as well as keeping track of the witches and wizards under the Ministry of Magic. My... position with a few Professors was rather precarious before the Austria Incident, which means I haven’t been able to cajole anyone into teaching me how nor procure a book that could explain its intricacies to me. I’m not all-knowing in the field of magic, even if I’m highly advanced for my age, and I’m starting to think that maybe some people were too afraid to teach me, considering they didn’t even offer Apparition classes to my year. Besides, the lack of such knowledge was what drove me to practice Apparition, by all means more centralized to the individual, in the first place.”

Silence reigned for a few moments as the two American soldiers processed the information that was given to them. It painted a grim picture of how far the Wizarding World was willing to go to hide themselves away. Steve understood the secrecy, since most of their tech was SSR knowledge only, (and the Technomancy gear was only built for the Howling Commandos alone), but to take away a safe mode of transport for civilians to leave a war zone crossed a line.

“Sounds like you’re a riot at magic school.” Bucky quipped, trying to subtly draw attention away from the surprisingly serious topic, “So what was Hogwarts like?”

Tom closed his eyes to gather his thoughts, his face for once betraying a wistfulness and a hint of nostalgia. Steve watched as pale fingers trailed along the fabric of the scarf, a slight longing in the usually blank blue eyes of the teen.

“You’d like Hogwarts,” he sighed out, “It’s a castle that sits on a cliff in the Scottish highlands, surrounded by the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest. There’s no city lights and the ceiling in the Great Hall is bewitched to look like the sky outside.The Slytherin Common Room’s in the Dungeons, see, and that’s already below the level of the Lake. It’s like living in a strange fishbowl, once you’ve factored in the mermaids, which are _not_ as pretty as the fairytales have claimed and have learned how to swear quite fluently in English mind you, and the Giant Squid, who’s far friendlier and playful to boot. There’s actually a room on the Seventh Floor that appears to only those who need it, and contains everything you need inside. I’ve used it many a time to hide from some of my housemates and to work on special projects that I didn’t want them knowing about.”

Whilst the boy spoke, Steve noted the tinge of homesickness in his voice (whether Tom knew it or not). It was obvious that despite the lack of friends and the animosity he initially had the bear from his Housemates, Tom Riddle still considered Hogwarts his home. With the way the guy spoke about the place, Steve wouldn’t be surprised if Hogwarts was as every bit as magical as it sounded. Maybe Tom and Monty could convince Dumbledore to give them a tour before they left the continent.

Bucky voiced the last sentiment out loud. It was funny, the way their minds worked so closely.

“Maybe you could get your Professor to show us before we go back to the States.” his oldest friend offered, ruffling Tom’s hair as he did so, “One last magical celebration before MACUSA cuts us off. Hey, do ya think we could smuggle some of that Butterbeer and Firewhiskey home?”

Tom muttered under his breath something about the misuse of alcohol, causing the duo to break out into quiet chuckles. The young wizard rolled his eyes once more, but soon joined in on the mirth.

Bucky always knew what to say when Steve felt down, and it was obvious that it now extended to Tom as well. No longer was his face blank as he smiled along with them, something that had been happening more often. It was nice to see the normally solemn and dour teen smile. A real smile, and not the one that Tom usually plastered in front of his face when trying to coax information out of strangers (oozing charm and charisma in a way that Bucky fell short of and Steve could only shake his head at).

It was kind of strange, the way Tom had gravitated towards to two friends from Brooklyn, as if subconsciously wanting a family out of it. And in a way, hadn’t that happened? Howard, Peggy, and the Commandos were basically all the family the kid’s had at this point, a little brother in a crazy, multinational family.

George then decided that now was the time to hiss (which sounded like a complaint, most likely for being jostled awake), and another round of quiet laughter broke out as both Steve and Bucky watched Tom placate the little snake, hissing out platitudes that Steve could catch bits and pieces of.

Even in the wilderness, fighting a war, moments like these gave Steve hope that everything would turn out alright.

—

**Omake 2:**

**If Tom Had Learned How to Make Portkeys**

“Bucky!” Steve cried as he watched his best and oldest friend fall from the train.

The wind whipped around the brunet soldier as he quickly shoved his hand into his pocket, feeling for the lighter that Tom had given his for situations like this. Once he found it, he gripped it tight and yelled out the activation word.

“Oz!”

In the blink of an eye, Bucky was no longer falling.

At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a resounding _splash_ came from something hitting the Black Lake at a high speed. Students flocked to the impact sight in shock and curiosity, only to see a lone figure break the surface of the water with the help of the Giant Squid, sputtering our water as he was carried to shore. The mystery man was unceremoniously plopped onto the Lake’s edge, his eyes blocking away the water.

The gaggle of students parted, and the man looked up to see the genially smiling Transfiguration Professor.

“Well hello, Sergeant Barnes.” greeted Dumbledore with a chuckle, “I see Tom has made use of the Portkey spell I taught him. Please, come inside, you must be exhausted. And, of course, welcome to Hogwarts.”

Later, Bucky will ask how the Portkey knew to dump him in the Lake to break his fall. Tom would admit that Portkeys were not that smart, and only transported the user to a pre-set destination. Howard Stark had overheard the conversation and was rolling on the floor laughing as Bucky put Tom in a headlock, rubbing his fist over the cackling wizard’s head.

MUCH later...

“Steve...” Tom began, his tone almost pleading, but Steve cut him off.

Begging was not something Tom Riddle ever did, and he would be damned if he was the one who made the kid start.

“This is my choice.”

The reply was scathing and exasperated.

“ _Steve_ , the compass is a bloody Portkey!” Tom groaned out, “Cut the dramatics, crash the plane, then come home.”

A brief pause.

“Oh, right.”

“ _Yes_.” was the flat reply, “Oh right indeed.”

The nose of the Valkyrie met the ice at full force, damaging the displays as the aircraft skipped over the surface like a stone skimming over a lake. Pieces from the bottom and the back fell off (if the flying debris was anything to go by) as the sharp tip of the plane buried itself into the frozen wasteland. Ice mingled with broken glass (the window had shattered upon impact), the controls and radio quiet, dead. Slowly the great rumble of the engine turned into a quiet whine as everything shut down around him. Seeing that there was no way that the ship would fly away, Steve dug into his pocket and found the silver compass that doubled as a Portkey and whispered the code word once he grabbed his trusty shield.

“Oz.”

As Captain America disappeared, the ice sheet cracked and the Valkyrie sunk down into its watery grave.

At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a figure dropped into the Black Lake and fished out of the water by the friendly Giant Squid. Some of the surrounding students cheered and took their winnings from the grumbling losers as the figure crawled from the edge.

“Tom, you sonova bitch!” the figure cried with no malice as Albus Dumbledore came to greet yet another one of Tom’s interesting muggle friends. 


	15. Heroism Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a hero dies, what happens in his wake?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to give Kudos and Review!

Those who knew Alastor Moody could describe the young man in a single word.

 

_Paranoid._

 

He was the kind of man to not only see the glass as half-empty, but to suspect that the remaining liquid in the glass was poisoned. Even the most mundane aspect was something to be cautious about, and to be noted down with suspicion. That was simply the kind of wizard he was.

 

True, it made his social life difficult, considering he constantly thought every man, woman, and House Elf was trying to kill him, but even then Alastor managed to scrounge up a few loyal (or as loyal as human nature allowed) friends. Norbert ‘Nobby’ Leach was one of those friends, the two having built up a camaraderie from having to share dorms for seven years (and surviving with their sanity mostly intact). While Alastor was a shoo-in for the Auror Corps, Nobby’s persuasive nature drove him to strive to become a politician. To change the way the Wizarding World was run.

 

Being a muggleborn, however, had shut that particular door for the ambitiously intelligent young Ravenclaw. The world of Wizardry still held many prejudices and that against muggle blood was one of them. Many careers closed to even the brightest muggleborn. Alastor was there when Nobby’s letter of rejection came from the Ministry (the owl ruffled after Alastor had cast detection spell upon detection spell to make sure it wasn’t sabotaged), and while he didn’t show it (softness was a weakness he couldn’t afford) he felt genuine empathetic sorrow for his crushed best friend. But persistence was not simply a Slytherin trait, and the Hogwarts graduate managed to find a job working at the Leaky Pot, the muggle counterpart pub to the more well-known Leaky Caldron. It was something to live off of until he got to where he needed to go.

 

Alastor had visited constantly when Nobby started the job (being the only time he would ever drink anything that wasn’t out of his flask, Nobby knew him well enough to watch his drinks), but soon Auror training had taken up most of his time, and the frequency of his visits lessened. But with each passing visit, the paranoid Ravenclaw knew his friend’s spirit was being crushed by boredom. Many partrons (be it Magical or not) had not frequented the pub since Grindelwald came into the picture, so most of the time it was just him and Alastor in the establishment (and when there _were_ other patrons, Alastor regarded them with a suspicious eye). Being the the Auror Corps, Alastor had tried to put a good word in for his friend to the Ministry, but seeing as he was simply a Trainee (and a Half-blood), his word weighed as much as a werewolf’s.

 

Then Riddle had come along.

 

Oh, Alastor remembered Tom Marvolo Riddle alright. It was hard not to, the Slytherin (the _Heir_ of Slytherin) had a rather demanding presence since the boy’s second year (why it took two years for the kid to gain traction probably had something to do with his non-pureblood last name) his magic developing into something oppressing and powerful (and Dark. Very, very Dark). Grey eyes had kept a keen eye out for trouble when the boy was around, and anyone who had half a brain knew that it was Riddle who opened the Chamber of Secrets and killed Myrtle Warren, a fellow Ravenclaw (but many stayed silent, or else they would most likely be the next victim). Alastor could easily say that Tom Riddle was as slippery as a frog on a rainy day.

 

So to hear otherwise from his trusted friend brought alarm bells to his mind (along with the fact that the pub had gotten increasingly more crowded than Alastor was used to). Nobby was a pragmatic bloke, and such a statement was not given lightly by the sometimes cynical muggleborn. Still, hearing something like that (about Riddle of all people) wasn’t a thing that Alastor could take by Nobby’s own merit (even with their years of friendship). So he took it upon himself to see if the bartender was right. Sitting in the back corner, away from the sight of the mostly muggle patrons (cutting down the amount of eyes that could potentially spot him), the Auror Trainee watched as the Hogwarts dropout (a notch in Riddle’s favor, no one dropped out of Hogwarts in their NEWT year unless they were _truly_ invested in their cause) laughed, drank, sang, and told stories alongside the muggle soldiers. The conclusion Alastor had come to at that point was one of two things. Either Riddle had truly changed since the blonde haired Auror Trainee last saw him, or the bloke was the most skilled and dedicated actor Alastor had ever seen.

 

The verdict was decided after the Leaky Pot bombings.

 

To say Alastor was surprised to hear Riddle’s voice in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (his tone tight and righteously angry) was an understatement. Then again, Alastor himself had only heard the news minutes before from his mentor, and even then the older wizard had been reluctant to give him the information about his closest schoolfriend. At that point Alastor had a silent choice to make - trust Riddle to help him avenge Nobby (who wasn’t dead, but seriously injured) or try to go about stopping Grindelwald himself.

 

For some reason the tone in Riddle’s voice as he (unspokenly) fought for Nobby’s (and everyone else injured in the blast for that matter) right to live seemed not only genuine, but heartfelt. Despite the fact that his brain was screaming CONSTANT VIGILANCE at him, Alastor had decided then and there to reveal himself, and take Riddle on as an ally. To trust that the Slytherin had truly changed from his old ways.

 

And now here, in a hidden base in the Alps, Alastor had seen Riddle’s eyes flash an unnatural, all consuming crimson red before fading back into enigmatic shifting blue. It was something that happened so fast an untrained eye would have thought it to be a trick of the light, but Alastor was not rising quickly in the Auror ranks for nothing. However, he did not voice this oddity, but slid it into things he should keep an eye on. The sheer determination and fire in the wizard’s eyes was enough to tell him the thoughts in his head.

 

He had once watched Riddle stand in front of a group of people as a prefect, his demeanor demanding attention and obedience. Those people had listened and obeyed with little in the ways of second thought, so sure in the teen’s abilities to follow him nigh blindly into the unknown (be it into the Slytherin Common Room or whatever else the wizard had been cooking up pre-Austria). And now Alastor watched as Riddle stood in front of the gathered crowd of fighters (Aurors and Soldiers, Magical and Muggle, unified in one goal) and looked defiantly out to them (not they they could see his face with that mask in place), daring them to challenge his authority. None did.

 

“I don’t need to tell you why we’re gathered here.” Riddle began, standing straight-backed, the definition of a leader, “Today we come together, both those of magical birth and those of not, united for a common goal and against a common enemy. HYDRA has lost its heart, Schmidt and his plane are as dead and buried as they ever could be. Unfortunately, Captain America sacrificed himself to obtain that victory, to allow us to continue the fight. It is why I stand before you now, a wizard and a member of the Howling Commandos, bound by both worlds to protect and serve all that is right and good, just like you.”

 

Alastor gave credit where credit was due, Riddle could definitely capture the audience. They listened with rapt attention, some nervous, some pumped up, some still upset about the new turn of events. But Riddle pushed on, his voice becoming louder and energetic.

 

“Right now we stand on the edge of victory and failure, for at the entrance to HYDRA Grindelwald stands with his army in its entirety. Should he prevail, not only would all our work to keep the world safe be in vain, but Grindelwald would take up the torch where Schmidt had failed and achieve powers that would allow him to punish and enslave all under his will. Freedom will be simply a distant dream. It is your decision here and now whether you want to follow in the footsteps of our beloved Captain and make the sacrifice play. To lay down your life so that our world may have a better future. I, for one, am willing to make that choice, and I doubt I am alone. Look to your fellow men - for today they are your brother. Cast aside now your prejudices, whatever they may be, for the men who march and fight beside you are your hope for survival and victory. Today we stand side by side, back to back, as equals and as friends, so that tomorrow we can watch a new dawn rise upon this Earth.”

 

Riddle took a deep breath, having already moved many men with his rousing speech, and Alastor himself felt the genuine emotion in his voice as the newly pronounced Major bellowed his closing statement.

 

“Wizards! Soldiers! Fighters for freedom! _Are you ready to make history?_ ”

 

The resounding cry of affirmation from the gathered men was almost deafening, and the Auror in training looked out amongst the crowd and told himself that he had made the right choice. Riddle began explaining battle tactics and formations, grouping Magicals and muggles into squadrons that would hopefully work well together. Alastor himself was placed with Riddle and the muggle team of the Howling Commandos. With the attack plan made and the orders given, they all scurried to their positions for the battle against Grindelwald and his army. Fingers grasped his wand tightly as Alastor prepared to fight side by side with muggles, grey eyes ablaze.

 

Their information was correct. Grindelwald had indeed amassed at the entrance of the facility, and had erected a large ward that covered the entirety of the headquarters (without them noticing, Alastor cursed himself mentally for not picking that tidbit up), the distortion of the ‘invisible’ wall signaling the ward’s presence. There was no way in or out for either party - something highly suspicious. Grindelwald wasn’t the type of person to play fair, and while this appeared to be a last stand, Alastor was under no illusion that it actually was.

 

“He’s going to try to make a run for it.” Riddle murmured lowly from their hiding place, “Grindelwald will incite chaos and sacrifice his army so that he himself may escape and continue the fight elsewhere. This cannot happen.”

 

“Hence the plan.” the muggle woman muttered back, clearly not happy with whatever scheme Riddle had cooked up.

 

It was almost strange, watching Riddle now. Alastor had kept a close eye on the boy since his fourth year, and the Auror in training (back then just a prefect) had pegged him as a pureblood supremacist. According to Nobby, Riddle had undergone some rigorous torture during his capture in Austria.

 

“Well, if he’s ready to scamper it explains why they’re gettin’ so twitchy.” the red mustached muggle grunted out with a lopsided grin, “Maybe we should fix that!”

 

Watching the interaction between them, it was obvious that Riddle had done a complete turnaround, becoming the opposite of the Dark Lord in training that he was at Hogwarts. Such a friendly, equal relationship between Magicals and muggles was unheard of even for ‘Light’ wizard standards. At least, one where the muggle party knew full well of magic and wizards.

 

“Let the show begin.” the oriental muggle mumbled under his breath, earning a short nod from everyone in the group.

 

With a heaved sigh (which echoed through his damaged ‘gas mask’) Riddle detached himself from the wall, squared his shoulders, and marched out from his hiding place. Alastor (who stayed hidden with the rest of the group under a disillusionment charm) could pinpoint the moment he was noticed, because Grindelwald’s stone mask morphed into a sneer.

 

“So.” the voice of Gellert Grindelwald bounced off the walls of the large chamber, “The blood-traitor of noble and filthy blood has decided to face his destiny.”

 

The army behind him stiffened, ready to attack at their leader’s command. But these were civilized men, who spoke before going to war.

 

“That would depend on your definition of ‘destiny’.” came the dangerously calm replied.

 

The false respite. The eye of the storm.

 

“I do not see your muggle friends with you.” Grindelwald noted, his voice deceptively light, “Have they deserted you like...how did you say it? Ah yes, vermin. Or was it something...else? Have you now seen the mortality of muggles, Lord Voldemort? How pathetic they are in their depressingly short lives. Like cattle and sheep, raised for slaughter. Don’t tell me that you’re mourning the deaths of a few useless _muggles_. I would have thought better of a wizard of your power, of a wizard wielding the Resurrection Stone of Cadmus.”

 

The temperature of the room began to dip. Grindelwald had struck a nerve. Ice began to creep around Riddle’s feet, reminding Alastor disturbingly of a dementor’s touch. 

 

“Those muggles were worth far more than you and your army could ever be.” was Riddle’s answer, served as cold as the ice that began to swirl around his feet, “I will not allow their sacrifices to be in vain. Today is the day you die, Gellert Grindelwald.”

 

A chuckle, free of any real joy, rebounded from the metal walls. The two of them were locked in a verbal dance, their words like the bared teeth of wolves. Though they stood still, everyone watching and listening could see how they circled each other with such carefully constructed conversation.

 

“No, Lord Voldemort.” came the reply, “Today is the day I make an example of you - to show the world what will happen to those that dare defy the natural order of muggles and magicals.”

 

With a flick of his wrist, a bone white wand materialized in Riddle’s hand.

 

“I’d like to see you try.”

 

The statement broke the dam down, and the room descended into pandemonium as both Grindelwald’s army and Riddle’s army (for that was, for now, what they were) opened fire on each other. Spells and bullets whizzed through the air as soldiers and wizards charged forth for their cause. Looking around, the Auror trainee noted that Grindelwald had indeed fled the scene, most likely to attempt to gain an advantage in all of this madness. Riddle, too, had disappeared, most likely tailing the Dark Lord. Seeing as his duty was in the fight here, Alastor Moody raised his wand and joined the fray.

 

This was for Nobby.

 

* * *

 

Weaving through the throng of fighters and flinging killing curses at the wizards who wore the mark of the Deathly Hallows, Tom Riddle pursued the fleeing Dark Lord with a kind of wild energy. For once, he was the predator and Grindelwald was the prey, though a voice in the back of his head still whispered, trying to figure out if there was more to the wizard’s escape play than a simple tactical retreat. A spell whizzed past him, its light promising pain and suffering (and, of course, death) to the receiver, which happened to be Gabe. Luckily he had seen the spell coming and had activated his Technomancy shield just in time, the curse shattering on the blue barrier like glass. A brief, victorious smile flickered across the newly promoted Major’s face before returning to the resolute frown as he tracked his prey through the madness.

 

At some point Grindelwald finally broke through the crowd, and Tom along with him. Their footsteps reverberated from the walls of the hanger as one tried to put distance between them and the other tried to regain that distance. Tom’s heart hammered in his chest as he was pushed on by sheer rage, casting curse upon curse at the fleeing Dark Lord. These spells were blocked and returned, but the action greatly slowed him down. Now alone with the enemy, Tom could now cast the spell he had been itching to use without causing collateral damage.

 

“ _Fiendfyre!_ ”

 

Wild, untamed fire shot from the end of his wand, taking on the form of a great serpent (the image of Esmeralda, the basilisk that slept in the bowels of Hogwarts) which quickly blocked the exit the Dark Lord was about to take under Tom’s Parseltongue command. The flame basilisk moved to cover all escape routes, enclosing the two wizards in a fiery cage as it laid down placidly, watching its master and the enemy with glowing orange eyes. Grindelwald paused momentarily in shock. Fiendfyre was notoriously difficult to control, and here was Lord Voldemort doing so with obvious ease.

 

“No more running, Grindelwald.” Tom’s voice echoed from the hanger walls, rising above even the sound of the living flames, “Win or lose, this war ends today.”

 

Tom watched as Grindelwald glanced back at the Fiendfyre snake, mentally weighing his odds. The conclusion was obvious - the Dark Lord had screwed himself over by putting up anti-Portkey and anti-Apparition wards, and dispelling someone else’s Fiendfyre (even with the Elder Wand) would take too much time, especially since the creature was autonomous and Tom could cast other spells. What could he do but stand his ground and fight, one on one, like a man? Coming to this end himself, Grindelwald turned to face Voldemort.

 

“You’ve gone to great lengths to make sure of it, it would seem.” Grindelwald muttered, more to himself then Tom though his voice was amplified by the echoing room.

 

The wizards circled each other, power rolling off their forms in waves unseen, charging the air with their magic. As a wizard duel commonly required, the two of them kept a distance. This was a bit of a disadvantage for Tom, who had come in leaps and bounds in his melee skills, but as it was most wizards simply weren’t well versed in the art of close combat of any kind, never mind fist fighting. Spells soon began to fly in the space between them, multicolored lights that promised pain and death were they to hit their mark.

 

Silently the two strongest wizards flung dark curse after dark curse at each other, their spells escalating in both speed and power as the fight continued. Grindelwald had the advantage of the Elder Wand, conjuring stone discs to take the killing curses flung at him by Lord Voldemort while Tom weaved in and out of the way at a speed that one would correctly call inhuman, and used his Shield of Loki to absorb the dangerous spells that he couldn’t dodge in time.

 

“I will admit,” Grindelwald finally called out as a continuous stream of dark curses left his wand, “You make a formidable opponent! Had your vision aligned with mine like your former followers had promised, the might of magic would have already ruled the world with an iron fist.”

 

Two spells collided in midair, causing an energy pulse that spread from the point of impact, shaking the building. The snake of Fiendfyre stayed vigilant at its post, watching the duel like a divine spectator.

 

“I am no longer the man they followed.” Tom replied, dodging a particularly nasty flesh-eating curse and retaliating with an equally strong bone breaker.

 

“A shame, really.” Grindelwald shot back with, the words followed by an overpowered blood boiler firing off the Elder Wand, “You remind me of Albus. Someone who used to to have such _ambition_ to fix the Wizarding World - for the Greater Good! Only to backtrack in your ways due to _sentiment_.”

 

Block, block, attack, block, attack, attack, attack. Lights flashing and hitting the walls, some rebounding off of the steel and all leaving scorch marks in their stead. Beneath the mask Tom’s brows furrowed in concentration, muttering both incantation and profanity under his breath. As much as he wanted to throw his shield and knock the snide wizard off his high horse, even a small chance of the Dark Lord catching it and gaining a second Hallow was too great a risk. If he made the Fiendfyre snake move from its post to attack Grindelwald, the wizard would use the opportunity to make for an exit.

 

“It is sentiment that saved me from becoming someone like _you_.” a bolt of magic blasted off Tom’s mask as he said this, the lenses shattering beyond repair.

 

Exposed Tesseract blue eyes narrowed with the delivery of the last word, conveying a kind of hatred that words could not describe. Cruel laughter bounced off the walls once more.

 

“And what am I, _boy_?” came the mocking question, “How is it that you see me? A madman? A _monster_?”

 

Despite his larger-than-usual magical core and genius intellect, Tom knew he was almost hilariously outclassed. Not only was Grindelwald wielding the most powerful wand ever made, but the wizard also had years of experience that an eighteen year old Hogwarts drop-out lacked. This gap in knowledge and skill started to show as the Dark Lord gained the upper hand, a powerful bone breaker slamming into Tom’s right shoulder and causing the younger wizard to bite his lip to prevent himself from crying out.

 

“Not quite.” was the resolute answer, spoken through gritted teeth, “We are both madmen pretending to be sane. We are both monsters who walk in the skin of men. We both have committed countless sins. But one of us understands the nature of men and wishes to live among them while the other believes he can rule over them.”

 

Even with an injured shoulder, Tom continued to cast (though for the past minute all he could do was take pot shots behind the Shield of Loki as he was bombarded with more attacks than he could handle) trying to keep his hand as steady as possible. Adrenaline rushed through his system, numbing the pain in favor of keeping him alive and moving.

 

“How poetic, yet utterly useless.” Grindelwald sneered, “You truly see potential in such backwards, lowly creatures? What is it about them that makes you protect them so?”

 

The questions were, of course, both rhetorical and spoken out of genuine surprise and curiosity. Grindelwald could see that Tom could not last much longer against him, and so had begun to taunt the losing party. He needed an edge if he was going to win.

 

“Much can be achieved if one believes in their cause.” Tom grunted out, his shield taking the brunt of the spellfire, “And I happen to believe in them. They are not so different from us as you seem to think.”

 

His breathing deepened as he felt for the energy he now knew was inside of him, the magic of his inhuman ancestry. Crimson red bled into his eyes until the color was all that was left, with only two black slitted pupils providing a contrast. Ivory skin became blue and patterned, cold to the touch. This time he noticed the changes, the physical manifestation of the Jotunn blood that coursed through his veins, uncovered after being buried for generations. Its nature had allowed him in the past to heal faster than usual, but the damage done by the Elder Wand was not so easily fixed. Instead of trying to mend his wounds in the midst of battle, however, the power Lord Voldemort called to the surface had only one purpose.

 

“And I suppose I always had a knack for poetry.”

 

Grindelwald barely managed to dodge the ice pike that suddenly sprouted from the ground. Wide eyes regarded the very much frost giant looking Tom Riddle, before jumping to the side as another spike of ice protruded from the floor, but not without leaving a gash on the man’s arm. The expression on the Dark Lord’s face was one of both consideration and fear as his eyes oscillated between his bleeding wand arm, the pillars of ice, and Tom’s new coloring.

 

“You weren’t being metaphorical when you called yourself a monster, then.” came the whisper tinged with disgust before spells flew once more in a violent frenzy.

 

Tom’s attacks switched from spellfire to raw casting, using his Jotunn magic to conjure solid blocks of ice in midair and telepathically flinging them at his opponent, who had to pause in his casting to scramble out of the way lest he be crushed under a hunk of solid ice. He wasn’t able to move out of the way fast enough, and ice shrapnel buried itself into his back and side. This level of magic was feral, crude, much unlike the sophistication of Jotunn abilities as told by the annexes of Slytherin. Though considering the fact that he only just learned of the ability the day before, such control was rather impressive.

 

And such control was heavily draining.

 

The Potters weren’t joking around when they had warned Howard against Tom using his Jotunn magic - there was a reason first years just casting their magic were only taught simple spells. Other than giving them a core foundation, the spells cast didn’t need much power or fine control. Over seven years this control built up so that by the time the students get to their NEWT year, the sheer energy they’re pouring into their spells isn’t as taxing. But Tom didn’t have time for that, not while in a life or death battle against arguably the most dangerous Dark Wizard of All Time (as the Prophet had dubbed him). As it was, the younger wizard felt the onset of magical exhaustion. Coupled with the fact he had been crucioed (twice) recently the end result would surely be a bodily shutdown. His entire being began to suffer a great weakness, an ache to his core that were the first signs that he would not be able to take much more of this.

 

This weakness sparked a loss in concentration, something Grindelwald had quickly picked up on. Bleeding wand arm raised, the Dark Lord smiled in triumph. Tired blue eyes widened as the spell hit him full force, his ears ringing from exhaustion and the booming sound of Grindelwald’s voice.

 

“ _Crucio!_ ”

 

For the third time in 48 hours, Tom Riddle fell under the effects of the torture curse, dropping to the ground as his nerves overexcited themselves. Cerulean skin and crimson eyes receded back to ivory (flushed pink from overexertion) and Tesseract blue (reddened with exhaustion) as a scream tore from the throat of Lord Voldemort, too drained to stop it. His yew wand was gripped tightly in his hand, his knuckles white with strain. Somehow Tom managed to find enough strength to grit his teeth and stop screaming, not allowing his enemy any more reason to gloat. Above the writhing teen stood the triumphant Grindelwald, pointing the Elder Wand victoriously at his downed opponent.

 

“You are arguably the most interesting opponent I’ve ever come across.” the Dark Lord said with no small amount of glee, “But it appears that even you cannot defeat me, Lord Voldemort.”

 

Instead of a despondent expression, a slow, manic smile spread on Tom’s face as he rolled into his back and looked up at Grindelwald. Mild confusion shone in the eyes of the older wizard as a laugh (high pitched in mania, as cold as the darkest winter) bubbled from the downed soldier’s throat. Tesseract blue eyes were wild and feral, even under the pain. As the Dark Lord questioned the sanity of his enemy, Tom Riddle spoke, his breaths shallow and shaking from the Cruciatus curse.

 

“Whoever said... it had to be... me?”

 

Three shots sounded in the hanger, its ringing echo loud in the silence that followed. Shock covered the features of the Grindelwald’s face as a ripple in the space behind Lord Voldemort formed, signaling that another person had been hiding in battle the entire time. Tom gave a short gasp as his nerves calmed down, the Cruciatus curse lifted as the Elder Wand was no longer pointed at him. The Invisibility Cloak of Ignotus fell at Tom’s sprawled feet. There, in a place that had been previously thought to be empty, stood Peggy Carter, her arm extended with a silver revolver in her hand.

 

“Ex...Expel...Expelliarmus.” Lord Voldemort whispered, using what little magical energy he had for the spell.

 

Frozen in shock from the sudden appearance of the woman, the Dark Lord only stared as his wand flew from his hands into the waiting hands of the teen on the ground in front of him. Grindelwald brought his hands to his chest as a delayed reaction to holding onto a wand that was no longer there, but felt a wetness there. Shaking, he brought his hands outward, revealing that they were now covered in blood. His blood. Horrified eyes stared at the muggle woman with the ‘gon’ in her hand and his own empty, blood covered hands before his gaze directed downwards. For from Grindelwald’s chest had bloomed three small crimson spots, liquid leaking from the holes that were made from simple metal and gunpowder.

 

“Downed... by the very people... you claimed were lower... than mud.” Tom murmured, “Isn’t that... poetic?”

 

The light of life was already starting to fade from Grindelwald’s eyes as the wizard sank to his knees, his entire body shuddering as his heart ceased to beat, a hole torn in the organ. Blood seeped from his mouth as his punctured lungs filled with the liquid, pooling on the floor as the body fell, the dull _thud_ resounding around them. The sound of finality.

 

Gellert Grindelwald, the mind behind Hitler, the most dangerous and powerful Dark Wizard of all time, was dead.

 

(Far away in an underground bunker, an Imperius curse lifted from a mustachioed muggle. Horrified with what he had done, he takes the pistol by his side and puts the nozzle in his mouth.)

 

With a whispered order to sleep, the Fiendfyre serpent dimmed and curled up onto itself. He was distantly aware that someone on the other side had been casting a water charm halfway through the fight (and now that the snake was asleep, the flames dissolved without a fight). A deep, shuddering sigh escaped from Tom. It was finished.

 

“I cannot _believe_ that worked.” came the voice of Peggy, who knelt down to help Tom sit up, “He was going to kill you.”

 

Once he got back, he would probably sleep for a full week due to magical depletion. The only reason he was still awake and barely functioning was because the adrenaline had yet to wear off.

 

“The... last time I...checked...” Tom muttered breathlessly, “That was... the occupational... hazard of... being a... soldier...”

 

He sucked in more air, trying to clear away the fog that was enveloping his mind. There was still the other members of Grindelwald’s army to take care of, not to mention the remaining HYDRA agents. None could survive if Tom wanted to bury their cause into the depths of hell.

 

“I wouldn’t talk if I were you.” Peggy ordered, “You’ve sustained heavy injuries, and that’s not including whatever magical ones you suffered.”

 

Tom directed his gaze towards her, only to see that there were tears at the corners of her eyes.

 

“I’ve already lost three people that I cared deeply about in this war.” her voice wavered, filled with emotion, “I’m not about to lose you too.”

 

In the end, all Tom Riddle could do was nod as he slipped into unconsciousness, his ears barely registering Peggy’s panicked words and the sound of Moody shouting at him.

 

* * *

 

Tom Marvolo Riddle had faced death. He had stood defiantly in front of a crowd of armed men and demanded that they follow his lead. He had cast the worst of the worst curses and had created (and survived destroying) a Horcrux. He had laughed in the face of Grindelwald.

 

And now he was wearing a deer-in-the-headlights expression in his cot at the Med Bay because Euphemia Potter was giving him the dressing down of his life.

 

“WHAT PART OF ‘YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED’ DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND-”

 

It had been going on for quite some time. Thankfully she had waited until he was decently recovered before launching into her harangue, but she also had the cunning idea of making sure he was still confined to the bed so that he couldn’t run away. How positively Slytherin of her.

 

“-HAVE YOU NO SENSE OF SELF-PRESERVATION-”

 

Honestly, Tom thought she was rather overreacting. Sure, he had passed out for almost two weeks straight, but overall his recovery was going steady. Jormungand was hissing in displeasure at her loud voice, but also admonishing Tom for his acts as well. How a tiny snake could have such an intense tone was almost hilarious if it wasn’t for the fact that he was being tag-teamed by both his familiar and his mother figure.

 

“-IF I HAD KNOWN YOU WERE GOING TO-”

 

It could have been worse, really, though most people seemed to go mother hen over him when Monty explained the effects of the Cruciatus curse and magical exhaustion. He already had to assure his his fellow Commandos of his sure recovery, and Peggy and Howard had taken a little more convincing (as they weren’t always with him out in the field) with some (very mild) fibs on how he was feeling. Thank god he was such a brilliant lier or they probably would have gone around the bend, even if they still had given him a rather suspicious look while he had shown them his ‘in perfect health’ smile.

 

“-HONESTLY I THOUGHT YOU OUT OF ALL PEOPLE WOULD-”

 

Hopefully he would be able to leave soon. Steve and Bucky’s funerals would be coming along in a week or so, and he wanted to be there (even if it hurt to think about, a pain worse than anything the Cruciatus curse could inflict). It would be performed in the home country (naturally), so Howard would have to fly them out there. There would be a ridiculous amount of fanfare (for both of them, for everyone who had died so that they could win) and a grand procession. Both Spencer-Moon (the Minister of Magic, who was fully aware of the SSR operation) and Winston Churchill (who was both familiar and friendly with Spencer-Moon since the conjoined operation between Tom and the SSR) had stopped by to visit, mostly to warn him (or to them, inform him) of his skyrocketing popularity in both worlds.

 

“-DYING FROM MAGICAL EXHAUSTION ON TOP OF LOSING YOUR MIND TO THE TORTURE CURSE-”

 

Now that Captain America had died a hero, Lord Voldemort, who had led the army against the final fight (and had survived) had gained a higher notoriety amongst the muggles (as the fellow Howling Commando who took up the mantle of leader and led the Allies to victory) and in the Wizarding World (as the vanquisher of Grindelwald). Tom had argued that it was Peggy who had killed the Dark Lord, and both men had assured him that she would get due credit (though, seeing the looks on their faces, Tom would have to persuade them not to ‘forget’). To think that he would become a household name for years to come. To think that he had finally managed to carve himself a place in the world, amongst friends and... family.

 

“-NO IDEA HOW CLOSE YOU WERE TO NOT WAKING UP-”

 

...Perhaps he should say something before Euphemia lost her voice. Unbidden a memory from the past arose, one where Bucky and Steve were sitting around him, chewing him out for his fateful and ill thought out Apparition to Austria.

 

“I’m...sorry?” Tom tried quietly, gaining the attention of both the Potter matriarch and the tiny asp.

 

He gained a deep sigh and the serpent equivalent of an eye roll. But before Euphemia could answer, Tom elaborated.

 

“I know full well my actions.” he began, lifting up his hand (a little weakly) to stop another lecture, “And I know that those actions had hurt you. I did not mean to make you worry for my health and safety, but such things are not under my control. Losing Bucky and Steve drove me to do something life-threatening, and I apologize if that had scared you. However, the steps I took also allowed for Grindelwald’s demise, so I will not apologize for doing what I thought was necessary.”

 

Another sigh escaped from Euphemia.

 

“That’s a start, my child. That’s a start.”

 

* * *

 

Adding ‘pallbearer’ to the list of duties he had performed was not one that Tom was happy to have. Even more so was the fact that the coffins he and the rest of the Howling Commandos carried were empty, the bodies buried in the snow far away, rotting away alone. As they carried the flag-wrapped coffin of their Captain to his final resting place, a single bugle sounded, playing a sorrowful sounding tune that Tom did not recognize (considering that they were currently on American soil, he had the feeling there would be more foreign concepts that he would have to quickly pick up on).

 

At the front of the crowd, standing in front of simple chairs next to both British Ministers and a couple other important Allied (mainly American) politicians were Colonel Phillips, Peggy, and Howard (the one who had flown them out here). They gave him a somber nod as he passed them by. With a motion from the overseer, they placed the coffin on the provided stand and sat down in their respective seats. Tom took his place next to Howard just as the priest called for their attention.

 

A song was sung, catering to Steve’s Christian beliefs in life. Tom, who had sworn off churches at a young age (he did not like how he was scrutinized there, his ability to speak to serpents equating with the Devil in their eyes, head forced under holy water for long periods of time), mumbled the basic tune, even with the lyrics in front of him. Thankfully, he noticed Howard doing much the same, and they both shared a quiet grimace, still trying to sing along out of respect for their Captain. Once the music stopped, they were blessedly allowed to take their seats. They were drained enough by the ordeal.

 

The droning voice of the pastor (or priest. Either way, he wasn’t quite fond of them) grated on Tom’s already frazzled nerves. As did the words of the ‘important’ politicians who deigned to speak like they had personally knew the deceased. At some point his mind clouded over and he tuned out the platitudes being spoken from the podium. It was obvious that they were only speaking of Captain America and his legacy, despite their use of the term ‘Captain Rogers’. These men did not know him like Tom did (or Peggy, or Howard, or Bucky, who would be put to rest with the other soldiers in a separate ceremony), and so their words felt impersonal, their anecdotes of heroism and sacrifice painting a picture of someone who was the American ideal, not the man he had called his brother. A quick glance to his side told Tom that the others had similar sentiments.

 

“We now give the stand to any family and friends of Captain Rogers to say a few words.”

 

This caught Tom’s attention. As did the movement near him as Colonel Phillips marched up the small set of stairs up to the podium, the pastor moving aside with respect. The older man’s stern expression held a deep sadness, held and shared by many who had gathered.

 

“When I first met Rogers, I thought Doctor Erksine was pullin’ my leg.” Colonel Phillips began, “I told him that, too. Back then he was a scrawny runt who took hits and punches and gave it as good as he got. But Erksine had taught me a lesson, and through Rogers I saw that lesson in play. It’s not just raw strength that wins war. It’s honor, determination, and the refusal to give up in a fight, no matter how hopeless the situation. War is won by heart, and Captain Rogers had a lot of heart. A true American Hero. He will be... dearly missed by all of us.”

 

Colonel Phillips stepped down, and Peggy took his place. Then Howard hers, then each Commando. All gave their memories of their beloved Captain, all kept their composure (even if it was jut barely) as they painted a picture of the real Steve Rogers.

 

“He had an odd aversion to running away...” Peggy had begun, tears threatening to fall as she spoke of the first few days that she met him, before the serum.

 

“A guy who gave as much as he got...” Howard’s voice shook with emotion as he recounted the day Steve had crossed enemy lines to save Bucky, jumping out of a plane with no fear.

 

“Got spunk for a guy in bright clothes...” Dum Dum commented as he recalled the incident of the actual break-out.

 

“Sometimes had a weird sense of humor...” Jim joked as he skimmed some of the small moments between missions.

 

“Always tried to look to the future, even when tough decisions had to be made...” Gabe stated, his expression set in stone as he spoke of things that had to be done.

 

“Incredibly loyal and contemplative, an artist at heart...” James remembered, his voice faraway as he spoke of quiet nights debating the world.

 

“Not just a great leader, but a great man...” Jacques’ heavily accented voice soberly said, speaking of battles fought together, as a team.

 

It was like reopening a badly healed wound. The pain that he felt inside increased as his friends (his _family_ ) verbally called upon both fond and bitter memories. All too soon the French explosive expert finished his speech, boots heavily thumping down the small set of stairs that lead to the podium. Howard squeezed Tom’s shoulder as the pastor asked if there were any more words of remembrance for the Captain. The scientist wordlessly conveyed the only notion that forced Tom to stand.

 

 _You’ll regret this if you don’t_.

 

Each footstep feels laden with lead, the meager stairs a few too many. For once in his life he looks out month the crowd, at a loss for what to say. His face was an impassive mask, a feat in itself considering that he felt a soul deep wound (that pulsed with every word spoken, with every tear held back and every wail denied) inside his chest. Finally he took a deep breath and instead of words, a short, broken laugh escaped his throat. Only after that came words.

 

“What is heroism? Is it the bravery? Is it the strength? Is it perchance the insanity of fighting even when the battle seems lost? Are heroes only heroes after they’ve sacrificed something, after they’ve become martyrs? Idolized and paraded as a public symbol for patriotism and honor?

 

The day Steve Rogers flew behind enemy lines in Austria, subsequently saving me and over two hundred other soldiers, he had only one goal in his mind. To save his childhood friend, Sergeant Barnes, because no one else could. The core driving force in most all of us is family, and the desire to protect them from harm. For Steve that was Bucky, who was the only person close to family that he had. During the course of the war that family grew, and he had more to care for, more to protect. Colonel Philips, a mentor who had once doubted him. Agent Carter, the fiery fighter that became his girl. Howard Stark and the Howling Commandos, who became brothers in arms. Each of us could count on him for his love and protection, and he could count on us in turn to do the same.

 

The devastation he felt when Bucky passed was also felt by all of us. We mourned that dreadful day and had vowed to not let his death be in vain. Now Steve goes to join Bucky in the great beyond, brother reunited with brother.

 

He was... ridiculously forgiving and caring. Willing to smile at those who were broken, willing to take in those who believed themselves to be beyond redemption. Willing to save people from the evils that we faced, even when it wasn’t a physical enemy. The man that Steve had saved me from was not some crooked faced Nazi, but myself, because Steve looked at monsters and saw something different. Someone worth loving. Someone worth fighting for.

 

Today the world mourns the loss of Captain America. An icon. A soldier. A hero. Today a few of us mourn the loss of a brother, who saw potential in us and loved us for who we are.

 

Farewell, brother, may you be forever be at peace with your loved ones now.”

 

The silence following his speech says more than any words ever could. His bootsteps sounded like cannons beneath his feet, filling the vacuum with its presence. Howard clapped his back as he sat down, his brown eyes glistening with the tears that had been falling since the inventor’s own speech. The space at the podium that Tom had vacated was now inhabited by the pastor once more, who spoke some final words and platitudes to the empty coffin laden with flowers and wreaths before asking the congregation to stand for the closing song.

 

This one was picked by the SSR, as a nod to Steve’s final words. A female singer that Tom couldn’t be bothered to identify took to the stage with a band, and began the crooning tune that Steve had asked Tom himself to sing before he crashed into the ocean. Along with Howard, Peggy, and his fellow Commandos, Tom began to sing with her.

 

“ _Somewhere over the rainbow,_

_Way up high,_

 

_There’s a land that I heard of_

 

 _Once in a lullaby..._ ”

 

Even then, the tears that threatened to overwhelm him were held back. He refused to cry for the crowd, for the politicians, for an empty coffin.

 

* * *

 

If Steve’s funeral was bad, Bucky’s was worse.

 

This was so for the fact that he was laid to rest, almost nameless, amongst the countless other soldiers that had perished in battle. The remaining Howling Commandos carried his coffin (also empty) to his final resting place amongst the brave and the strong. To Tom it felt wrong to have Bucky’s grave so far away from Steve (as ‘Barnes’ and ‘Rogers’ were quite far apart in the alphabet), but this wasn’t something that he could change. Soon enough the groups split apart, having mourned enough and intending on getting out of their stiff funeral clothes. Each member of his team squeezed Tom’s shoulder or patted him on the back as they left, leaving the young wizard alone to face the silent grave.

 

Tom stared down at the freshly buried soil, at the newly carved tombstone, and at the bare ground around it. Such a sight, so dull, so formal, was a slight on the characters of the men he had called his brothers. Discreetly he looked about him to make sure no one was looking before kneeling down, unfazed by the notion of getting dirt on his clean and pristine uniform, taking off his white gloves.

 

Sucking in a deep breath, Tom pressed his palms lightly to the soil, feeling the cool dampness, his eyes closed. He reached for every happy memory he could recall of Bucky and pushed them through his hands, the tingling feeling of magic pulsing from him into the ground. After what felt like a lifetime Tom stood up and dusted himself off, inspecting his work. With a small, nearly imperceptible smile (not that there was anyone to see it, other than perhaps Bucky’s spirit) he deemed the work satisfactory and finally walked away to join his comrades back at the SSR headquarters located in the United States.

 

Later, someone would walk by the grave, and marvel at the vibrant blue color in the forget-me-nots that were in full bloom around it, especially at this time of year. When they paused to investigate, they could have sworn they heard the sound of a man laughing happily in the wind.

 

* * *

 

Thin fingers felt the liquid-like fabric in his hands. It rippled (like a living ocean, silvery, ethereal, a whisper of comfort) under his grip. With the way it hung off of his shoulders, the end barely brushed the ground. As it wasn’t in use, the fabric retained an air of mystery, its dull silver coloring sewed together with a dull gold thread. A gift given by a man who called him ‘son’.

 

(The Invisibility Cloak of Ignotus)

 

The fingers then circled the diamond-like inset in his shield, which was humming (like a greeting, likea song, happy) with power. Currently the Shield of Loki was retracted, only the armband visible on top of his uniform, which now sported the patch that designated him as a Major instead of a Sergeant. It was strange to think that the heart of the shield used to be inlaid in a ring, on the finger of a man that had disowned his mother. To think, in a different life, this could havebeen passed down naturally to him instead of him stealing it off of the wizard’s grimy hand.

 

(The Resurrection Stone of Cadmus)

 

Finally bony fingers trailed along the grain of finely polished wood. His newest addition to his magical repertoire, won from the man who had used it to rain hell on the world, just as many had done before him. The wand hummed with something akin to approval, as if deeming him worthy of being its master (as if telling him that this was meant to be).

 

It was rather longer than average, a proud fifteen inches, and resembled a thin skeleton finger, pointed quite sharp at the end. The knuckles were pronounced (disturbingly so, gnarled and knotted) and the tip was almost blade-like. The base was flat, and carved into the wood in dull gold was the infamous symbol of a circle inside of a triangle bisected with a line. As was the nature of elder wood, the coloring was pale swirled with a crimson, bloody red*. The blood-stained finger of Death, calling all under its mercy back into his arms. An altogether fitting image of a wand that had been the core and cause of so much bloodshed and death.

 

(The Elder Wand of Antioch)

 

The ‘song’, if one could call the silent hum of energy from a magical item that, from all three produced a harmony that pulsed through and around him. It felt sacred, solemn, deathly hallowed. A wand of unmatched power, a stone that could call back shades of the dead, a cloak that could hide oneself even from death. The Three Deathly Hallows, finally united as one. And if one possessed all three...

 

(The Master of Death)

 

What did that mean, exactly? Master of Death. Simply a frivolous title, or something with lasting consequences? The legend had told of power unmatched, of conquest over death. All things that the Tom Riddle of many years past would have desired above all else. And yet...

 

There had been no thunder, no sudden rush of energy, no sudden bought of prophecy or vision or epiphany when he had taken the wand. Even though the wand appeared to accept him willingly as its Master (as opposed to Peggy, who had been the first to shoot its previous owner), Tom had gained no sudden boost in power (that he knew of). And even if he had gained some sort of boon, if it turned out that he did gain some incredible power over death, would all that had transpired be worth it?

 

Flashes of memories passed Tom by. Brown eyes, blue eyes, smiling in mirth, set in determination, laughing at something the other had said. Two men that were his brothers in all but blood, dead and gone. All the magic in the world was not worth their deaths. He would gladly renounce his magic, the very thing that he had grasped so desperately in his younger years, if that could bring them back to him. Eyes then slid to the stone inset in his armband, the dull gold rune in its crystal center beckoning softly.

 

But perhaps magic could allow him to see them once more.

 

A spark of hope made its way into his chest. Shaking fingers easily dislodged the stone from its inset. Such a small thing, and yet it was rumored to be able to call back shades of the dead. How did the story go? Turn it three times?

 

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.” Tom whispered as he slowly spun the stone between his fingers.

 

Silence. Not even a wisp.

 

“Captain Steven Grant Rogers.” Tom murmured, a little louder, trying again.

 

Nothing.

 

A ragged sigh of disappointment escaped his lips. It appeared that not even the fabled artifacts of Death could bring them back.

 

Perhaps there wasn’t much to the old stories as Dumbledore and Grindelwald had believed.

 

And how ironic would that be? To have their doctrine, their very belief be proved a lie? A war for nothing. All those good men dead and wounded for a lie that two men believed and spread. All this pain and suffering over a few trinkets. A wand that was simply a little stronger than most, a stone that acted as a magical conduit and power source if the right runes were applied, and an Invisibility Cloak that lasted longer than others of its kind. What kind of goal was that? The Tesseract had been a more dangerous artifact in the hands of muggles who knew not its magical nature!

 

The stone was placed back into its inset, the metal armband polished and gleaming. With the Deathly Hallows coupled with his uniform (minus the gas mask, which Howard had chucked, telling Tom he would make the young man a far superior model) that now contained a multitude of important medals of valor, the man that was Major Riddle and Lord Voldemort struck a imposing figure. But right now Tom felt that he was anything but that. He felt... empty. Hollow. A churning in his chest hurt like no other, sitting there. The black colored velvet-like material never felt more fitting than now. A symbol of death, of mourning, of sorrow. At some point a silver lighter had found its way into his hands, along with a rolled up piece of paper (he couldn’t bear to unroll it, to see their faces bright and happy, laughing alongside him).

 

Something wet streaked down his face. A pale, thin hand caught it, wiping it away. The anger from the days past had dissipated, leaving a hole where the roiling emotion once was. Fingers gripped tight the lighter, chest heaving deep breaths in an attempt to keep his composure.

 

“...Tom?”

 

Peggy’s voice preceded the woman herself, who was dressed primly in her SSR uniform (and she too had medals adorning her chest). An expression of worry was writ across her face (which seemed to have tear-tracks on them). Behind her was Howard, whose expression was equally morose, dressed in his best black suit (which was of a ridiculously high quality befitting of a Stark). Looks like none of them had changed out of their funeral clothes, then. He had been so caught up in his emotions that he hadn’t heard them enter the room. For a second they both stood there, regarding the shaking, form of the youngest Howling Commando as he tried to hold back his sorrow (tried to keep it together, tried to be a Lord, a Major, a man that could not be moved) before they moved to sit by him (one on either side), wrapping their arms around him.

 

“I know. I miss them too.” Peggy murmured close to his ear, her words wet with her own tears, “We’re all hurting, Tom.”

 

( _It's alright to let your feelings go once in a while, you know_.)

 

“But we’ve got each other now.” Howard added quietly, his voice wavering as he too barely held himself together, “And we’ll get through this together.”

 

( _You're with friends here_.)

 

Finally he allowed the tears to fall, tightly wrapping one arm around Peggy and the other around Howard. The three of them stayed there for quite some time, pouring their sorrows out together. They were right, they were a family. This loss was hard on all of them, but they would get through this together.

 

Steve and Bucky would have wanted at least that much.

 

( _You can cry_.)

 

* * *

 

**Omake 1: Alternate Funeral Scene**

 

“Farewell, brother, may you be forever be at peace with your loved ones now. Both of you will be sorely missed.”

 

The silence following his speech says more than any words ever could.

 

Then from the back of the crowd came two indignant voices.

 

“Quit telling everyone that we’re dead!”

 

“Sometimes, I swear I still can hear their voices...” Tom trailed off wistfully.

 

—

 

**Omake 2: Alternate Fight Scene - The Muggle Way**

 

“I do not see your muggle friends with you.” Grindelwald noted, his voice deceptively light, “Have they deserted you like...how did you say it? Ah yes, vermin. Or was it something...else? Have you now seen the mortality of muggles, Lord Voldemort? How pathetic they are in their depressingly short lives. Like cattle and sheep, raised for slaughter. Don’t tell me that you’re mourning the deaths of a few useless _mug_ -”

 

A loud bang resounded through the hanger, and Grindelwald dropped like a sack of potatoes, a large hole where his forehead was. All eyes turned to Tom, who shrugged nonchalantly.

 

“Monologues can kill.”

 

In retaliation the followers of the now dead Dark Lord began shouting incantations, only to stop in horror as their spells fizzled out before leaving their wands. Once again all eyes turned to Tom, who once again shrugged.

 

“This hanger is basically a large box, so I had every Auror magically seal it to make it airtight, then placed a couple of Wizard Traps on the walls. Now none of us can use magic, so we’ll be doing this the muggle way.”

 

Behind him, the clicking sound of firearms being prepped echoed in the hanger as the soldiers behind Lord Voldemort made themselves known.

 

“Ready men? Aim... FIRE!”

 

And the followers of Grindelwald fell under the barrage of bullets and gunfire.

 

Elsewhere, outside the confines of the ‘story’, Tom Riddle paced in his office.

 

“That was a much better idea! Why didn’t we do that in the actual storyline?!” The Wizard stewed to a purple clad brunette typing away on a tablet.

 

“For plot reasons, of course.” the girl replied distractedly, grimacing at something on the screen, “Besides, the actual dimensions of the hanger wasn’t a box, so sealing it would have been impossible without Grindy and his cronies noticing. Plus, angst and badass fight scenes. Can’t forget that. Now hush dear, this guest chapter won’t write itself!”

 

Tom Riddle groaned, his face in his hands. Why was his author like this?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Fun fact: Dumbledore’s Wand was not designed by the set with the knowledge of it being the Elder Wand in mind. The wand in the movies is made of Oak and has bulbs to look like elderberries. 
> 
> Canonly, the book states that the wand is made of Elder wood. That being said, have you seen elder wood? The middle is pale and blood red, a way more sinister look than the movie wand. 
> 
> Hence why this story’s Elder Wand looks different (and more sinister)


End file.
